


An Account of Events

by shutupnerd



Series: recount and recover [3]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: And He Hates Them, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Dissociation, Dreaming, First Kiss, Future Foundation, Hajime Has Trauma, Hajime Hinata deserves a break, Hajime and Izuru are a System, Hajime has a diary, Hajime-centric, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Izuru has a diary, Izuru hates junko, Journal reading, Kamukura project, M/M, Medical Malpractice, Mentions of Suicide, Neo World Program, No Explicit Sexual Content, Nonconsensual kissing, Pining, Recovery, Scar Worship, Sonia and Hajime are best friends, They Should Lose Their Licenses, Trigger Warning: Needles, did, dissociative content, domestic kamukoma, dr3 spoilers, junko definitely does not hate izuru, junko gives izuru makeovers, like seriously, mentions of abuse, no beta we die like men, one-sided relationships, post sdr2, sleeping, the warriors of hope are mentioned like once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 72,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd
Summary: After awakening from the Neo World Program, Hajime finds a set of journals. As he reads them and struggles to recover from what he’s gone through, he finds out quite a lot about himself and his identity, what happened to Izuru during his despair days, and, more notably, his relationship with one Nagito Komaeda.(PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS FOR TRIGGERS. I don’t want to hurt anyone!)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki (implied), Kamukura Izuru/Enoshima Junko (One-Sided), Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito, Komaeda Nagito/Hinata Hajime
Series: recount and recover [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808287
Comments: 337
Kudos: 1131





	1. Cottonhead

Their things were stacked in totes. Their despairing selves and all their tools had been neatly put away. They had gone into pods, their things into clearly marked plastic tubs.

While the other four sorted through their things, Hajime stood in front of his. His box was small, marked “Izuru Kamukura” in handwriting that likely belonged to Kirigiri. Rubbing the back of his neck (his hair freshly cut by Sonia—he’d have to find some hair dye), he slowly opened his...no, Kamukura’s things.

The contents were sparse. Two black suits, ironed and folded. A single black tie and an immaculate pair of loafers. Hajime immediately decided that he was never going to wear black again. 

Beside them, a small key. To unlock what, he didn’t know. And next to that...

Hajime picked up Chiaki’s hair clip, closed his fist around it, pressed it to his lips. _I’m sorry, Chiaki. I failed you twice._

Slipping the clip and the key into his pocket (he would go see if it opened anything later), he turned his eyes to the last items in the tub—three black leather-bound journals, stacked and a sticky note placed on top of them.

_Kamukura, if you ever read this, then the Neo World Program has to have succeeded. I don’t know what headspace you’re in, or even what person you are. But I felt you deserved to know what the doctors wrote about you—what you wrote about yourself. I hope these might be able to help you make sense of things._

_—Makoto Naegi_

Hajime grinned a bit. Makoto had given him kindness after kindness, and he suspected this would not be the end of the goodness he would afford them.

He opened the first book. 

Two pictures slipped out with another sticky note. 

_I held onto these ones for you._

One was Hajime’s school photo.  
_Did I always look that serious?_ The other, however....

He shivered at the IV pole, the hospital gown he (Kamukura) had been put in. Hajime could no longer stand to be in them. When he woke up, he was connected to a maze of tubing. He had no idea why he had panicked then, but panic he had—it was lucky that the others had woken up before him and were able to calm him down. 

He supposed the answer would be in this book. He turned to the middle of the book out of curiosity and immediately was met with more pictures. Pictures of him, in surgery. In indescribable pain. Memories that had been hazy and dull with agony began to descend like a miasma on his head. He slammed the book shut, phantom IVs and hospital gowns feeling like they were wrapping around his throat and suffocating him. So I’ll open that later.

Putting it aside, he carefully opened the second one.

_Journal—Hajime Hinata._

_The doctors told me it would be good to have a place to keep my thoughts. They gave me this._

_They took my phone and wallet. I’m not allowed to talk to anyone, apparently. I wanted to text Chiaki and say I wouldn’t be at school or something. But I’m not even allowed to call my mom. I hope she doesn’t get too mad._

_It's kind of weird. The only person I even thought about texting to say bye besides my mom was Chiaki. I assume when all of this is said and done, I’m going to get put in her class. At least, I really, really hope so.  
I don’t want to sound weird, but Chiaki is the only one who’s ever really, like, looked at me here. Everyone else just kind of looks right through me. Like I’m not even there. Or, if you’re that asshole security guard, looks down his nose at me. _

_I hope this changes that._

Hajime sighed, rubbing the scars on his temple. “It sure did, buddy.” 

_Day two._

_Surgery is in an hour. They’ve put me on an 8pm bedtime, and they got annoyed when I didn’t fall asleep immediately. They got even more annoyed when I said I wasn’t used to sleeping so early, and when I asked why I had to, I could feel them getting irritated. There’s this one guy in the back, with a journal, who scribbles down basically anything I say._

Hajime cast a glance to the first book. He didn’t remember writing any of this, but to be fair, the Kamukura Project was a blur—from trauma, he assumed. 

_I’m a little nervous. I never even got my wisdom teeth or tonsils out. They say they’re going to make me stronger. Apparently the pain will be pretty mild but spread all over. Here goes nothing, I guess._

_Day four._

_I couldn’t hold a pencil yesterday. I have to be careful with it, it’s the only one I’ve got. I fucked up a fork just trying to eat. It’s exciting to know that I can defend myself better now, but I’m just...it’s frustrating. But after I ate, I started feeling really, really tired. Like, not a normal tired. It feels like my head got stuffed full of cotton. I asked the nurse and she said it’s because I’m still coming down from my surgery. I’ve never been tired like this before, though. It’s kind of scary. Like if I go to sleep, I won’t wake up right. But I need to, or I’ll collapse at this desk._

Hajime swallowed hard. He didn’t like what the words in front of him shouted at him. It seemed pretty obvious that he had been sedated. He didn’t like the idea—someone taking away his agency by shutting him down, making him sleep. Actually, he had a lot of trouble sleeping. Maybe this could tell him why.

_Day seven._

_They did something to my eyes yesterday. I can see now, even in the dark. But I was awake the whole time. I was scared as hell. I asked if I could call my mom when it was done. They said no. I asked for ibuprofen._

_They stuck a needle in my neck._

_I woke up three hours ago. The nurse told me that I needed to stop asking about my mom. I’d be willing to bet good money that they wouldn’t give me something for the pain because I pissed them off._

_I don’t like the doctors and the scientists. But I’m not turning back. I need to do this. So I can look Chiaki in the eyes and be an equal. But...I’m doing this for myself too. Not just her._

_I miss her. I hope I didn’t upset her too badly. I’ll see her again soon._

Hajime’s stomach dropped, and he grabbed the hair clip from his pocket. Kamukura’s memories were still blurry to him, he was still trying to make sense of them. So he didn’t actually know yet how he had gotten it. 

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. He turned the page, nothing new or interesting sticking out until day 21.

_They gave me the singing talent today. Truth be told, I don’t like it. As soon as I could open my mouth they made me sing. I didn’t sound like myself at all. It was like someone else had crawled in and replaced my voice with his own. A lot of things feel like that now._

_I’m starting to find it hard to recognize myself. I look the same, yeah, but I can swear my eyes are glinting red when I look at them in the mirror. I sing in the shower and it’s not my voice. I’m so tired, all the time. Like my head is full of pillows. Everything hurts all the time. Walking is becoming harder and harder, but until I collapse, I won’t complain. I don’t say anything about it, because I’ll be sedated again._

_I’m not dumb. I know they’re drugging my food._

_Every time I ask the nurse why I’m being treated like this, why I’m always in a hospital gown and I can’t have my clothes back, why they’re drugging me every single day, why I have no idea when surgeries are coming or what they entail anymore, she always tells me the same thing._

_“We are trying to make you something special.”_

_I probably made a mistake signing up for this. But it’s too late to go back. I can’t face Chiaki with a half-assed job of it. I’m in it til the end, no matter what it takes._

Everything began to blur together. Hajime nearly closed the book, but something urged him not to.  
_You do want to know how I came into existence, right? Keep going._

He swallowed hard. Kamukura was right. As far as Hajime knew right now, he didn’t speak often and wouldn’t front unless Hajime was having a breakdown. So when he had something to say, Hajime usually listened. 

Taking a deep breath, he flipped through the pages.

_I don’t even know what day it is anymore._

_It’s to the point where I’m almost always on an IV. They don’t listen to me anymore. I tell them I’m fine, and I am fine, and they strap me down to the table and hook me up. If I didn’t have any say before, I definitely have none now. I fall asleep from a drugged meal and wake up in an operating room. No painkillers anymore. Just sedation. They seem all too willing to just have me sleep instead of dealing with me._

_I’ve felt less and less like myself. I’m forgetting how to tie a tie. All I know how to do anymore is change gowns and half the time I’ll wake up and it’s been done for me. It’s just...IVs and hospital gowns, and the same food they’ll shove down my throat if they’ve just operated on my hands._

_I miss you, Mom and Dad. When I get out of this, we’ll have one hell of a lawsuit. I know I signed those papers, but you didn’t. You just thought I got a scholarship and didn’t even have to sign any papers. They lied to all of us._

_I miss you too, Chiaki. I hope you haven’t forgotten me, even though I’m forgetting myself._

_My name is Hajime Hinata. I am seventeen years old. I have made a terrible mistake._

_I love Hope's Peak Academy. I would do anything to be a part of it in a way that matters. That is why I did this. Maybe it was a mistake, but I do not yet regret my decision. I do not regret my decision. I do not regret my decision._

Hajime was too close to the end of the book. He gripped at the knot of his tie. _Mom. Dad. He didn’t know if they were even still alive. Izuru. Mom and Dad. Are they okay? Do they know we’re okay?_

I do not know, Hajime. I do not know our parents’ faces. I assume they believe you perished with the Reserve Course. 

And now, it seemed like Hajime might never see them again. But Izuru was in a seemingly good mood (if he could even have moods) and was actually answering his questions. He wasn’t brave enough to ask about Chiaki’s hair clip. Not yet. And he didn’t want to finish out the journal. Truth be told, he was scared of what he was going to find. But...

_There was a key in the tote of your things. What does it unlock?_

A bit of a pause followed. _I am assuming everyone’s items are in the same place. If you go and look through Komaeda’s effects, you may find a collar and chain. He entrusted the key to me several years ago._

Hajime wrinkled his nose at the implication. _What the FUCK, Izuru?_

Izuru didn’t answer him. Komaeda...Komaeda was a whole other set of problems. Between his thoughts and actions and the utterly embarrassing way Hajime felt about him in spite of everything, and the new implication that Izuru and Komaeda had their whole own relationship for him to contend with was going to be a mess to deal with.

Izuru finally answered him. _Just finish the journal. I know you’re avoiding it._

_You’re right, but you are NOT off the hook. You are explaining EVERYTHING later._

_Very well._

Pushing that particular enigma aside, Hajime turned to the next entry.

_The last surgery is today. After this, it’s all done. I can go home. I can see Chiaki. I told myself I was doing this for her. That wasn’t a lie, but I’m not sure it was the truth, either. I did this for myself, too. I’m not good enough as I am, as I was. I need to be something; someone I can be proud of. Their methods were wrong in getting me here. But I am going to finally, FINALLY be enough for myself._

Hajime sighed, something burning at the back of his eyes. It was still something he struggled with, the thought that he was enough. He was someone who had never been special, never been seen, really. For a long time—no, who was he kidding? It still ate him up inside, thinking that he wasn’t enough to be of any worth.

That was why Komaeda’s words had stung so badly, before he died. For once in his life, Hajime Hinata had been special, and it was ripped away viciously, by someone he (despite his good sense) had grown to care for. To want, if he was being honest. His words had torn him right back down to square one—a bullied little kid who was ignored at best and mercilessly teased at worst.

He squared his shoulders and kept reading. _They’re coming in to get me now. I’ve been scared of every other surgery. But I’m not scared of this one._

A chill rippled through him, from his head to his toes, as his eyes darted to the next page. Empty.  
He turned it. Empty. 

The rest of the book was empty. Hajime didn’t even realize he was crying until the tears splashed onto the page. “So. That’s what happened.” 

Sonia was the first to notice his crying. She rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. “What is wrong, Hajime?”

“Old memories. You don’t need to worry about me.” But the hug was nice. He returned it, savoring the warmth of human contact. “I just...I think I’ve got why I don’t like needles. Or hospital stuff in general.”

She glanced down to the book in his lap. Read the last entry. “Oh, Hajime...” She gripped him tighter. “You are enough. Of this, I am certain.” 

He wiped at his face and grinned at her. “Thank you, really. It’s just a lot of information all at once that I didn’t really want to see.” He broke the hug and stood up. “I’m alright. You go back to your stuff, okay?” 

She looked doubtful but nodded. “Alright.”

His eyes turned to the last journal. He didn’t think he’d like what he’d find. It was more worn than the rest, showing some exposure to the elements, but still showing signs of being well taken care of.

But he took it in his hands and opened it. It was not his handwriting. Rather, perfect cursive in black ink.

_They told me my name was Izuru Kamukura. I do not know if this is my true given name. But I don’t think I care all that much. I have been placed in a room with only a bed and this journal. I do not think I will have much to say. This is already boring._

“Jeez. You must be fun at parties,” Hajme muttered, keeping on reading.

_I am being kept on an IV line for the foreseeable future. They say this is so I will not have to be fed._

_They are isolating me as much as they can. I am alone, and it seems I will stay alone._

Hajime closed the journal, put it next to the doctor’s notes. Those were things he would tackle later, when he had recovered. But first, he had to check for something in Komaeda’s belongings.


	2. Sedative.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime’s dreams are anything but sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! This’ll have a little more blood and fun Medical Content than the previous chapter! Have fun, be safe, and i hope you enjoy! <3 -fen

He stood over Komaeda’s tote, feeling a tad guilty. _Am I really about to invade his privacy because Izuru said something weird? No. No, I’m not._ He left the tote alone, amending to just have an awkward talk with Ko once he woke up. _That’s assuming I can wake him up._

He shook the thought from his head, frowning. He was going to help his friends. He had to help them. 

Hajime sat beside their pods, sometimes. Talked to them. Kept everyone company. Sure, he himself had only been awake for about a week, but until everyone was at his side again, he didn’t neglect anyone or their pod. 

Falling into step beside Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi, he began to walk away, preparing to leave Kamukura’s things behind. He didn’t like looking at them. He didn’t like that Izuru persisted, a quiet, cold voice in the back of his head that could be far too rational. Far too calculating. And from the looks of it, he wasn’t leaving him anytime soon. 

Hajime sighed, and went to grab the box. He’d want his suits when he fronted. And it might be good to give the others a more physical way to tell them apart. He hadn’t exactly told any of them about Izuru yet, but it wasn’t a conversation he wasn’t planning on avoiding.

“Whatcha got there, Hajime?” Kazuichi asked, looking over into his box. “Not much, huh?”

“Izuru...traveled light.”

He didn’t have much to say. Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko bickered (as usual) while they walked, but Hajime heard none of it. He may as well have been deaf, for all that he heard. He reached his designated room in the main building (nobody was quite recovered enough to explore outside yet) and locked the door behind him. He unceremoniously dropped the box on a chair before collapsing onto his bed, burying his head in his hands. He was tired, so tired. And that journal, words he had penned with his own two hands, had sent them over the edge. He gave into his emotions and sobbed, everything crashing down on him. The guilt would never really go away.

After all, his signature was on that paper. He signed away his body and mind just because he felt bad about himself. Because he wanted to prove himself to a girl who liked him just fine the way he was. Because he didn’t feel like he was good enough. God, he was a fucking idiot and the world had paid dearly for his arrogance. He thought he could take it. That he’d still be himself, just...better. 

Instead, they erased everything about him. 

He laid back and let his tears dry on his face, staring at the ceiling. God. He really had made a royal mess of things. And now he had the rest of his life to contend with unanswered questions. Mom and Dad. His friends. He didn’t even know if they were alive. And, of course, Izuru wouldn’t know either. For all he knew, he could have killed their parents and neither of them would be any the wiser. At least, not yet. 

Since his awakening, Hajime and Izuru didn’t share memories. If Izuru fronted, Hajime would have no idea what he said or did. And the same went for Izuru. Sure, they could talk, but Izuru didn’t like to talk. It was boring to him (but wasn’t everything?). He would only come out when Hajime was at his absolute lowest, keeping him safe and finding him places where he could quietly and privately work through a panic attack or episode. That much, he had promised. _I’ll protect you,_ he had said.

 _I’m not touching your journal. Not yet._

Instead, he took off his tie, changed into pajamas, and went to sleep, the litany of the things he was just forced to experience again overwhelming him to the point of exhaustion.

The clock read 3:12 pm.

His sleep was anything but restful. As he slept, he remembered.

_The lights were bright and unforgiving, shining through the cloth. His eyes were completely covered, his nose and mouth covered by an oxygen mask. Both arms were laden with IVs and his legs had been strapped down to the table. Every little sound was heightened. He wasn’t sure if they knew he had awakened yet, but he certainly was aware of it. His legs were on fire. His mouth and neck, too. Seems like they’d doubled up and operated on two places at once._

_He tried to move his arm to take the cloth off his face, but the pain of moving with the IVs coupled with someone firmly holding his wrist down kept him stuck in place._

_“Don’t move,” a female voice sternly ordered. Another hand clamped down on his left wrist, gripping hard enough to hurt. He didn’t know what these new procedures were for. They had stopped telling him a long time ago. He only got an answer once he was forced to exhibit whatever new party trick they’d shoved into him._

_A different voice, a male, spoke up. “No. Let him up.” Yet another hand descended, gently removing the cloth off his eyes but covering them with his hand as they dimmed the light. He blinked into the light, adjusting to it as the hand moved to the back of his head, urging him to sit up. As the world came into focus around him, he seized in pain._

_But he said nothing and did his best to hide the reaction. If he said he was hurting, they were going to send him right back to sleep. He could see the syringe out of the corner of his eye, already filled with the transparent yellow liquid that they would use to knock him out the second he wasn’t perfectly and happily compliant._

_The head doctor came into his vision, pressing two fingers into his mouth and carefully pulling it open just a bit, presumably to check the work that had been done._

_It hurt. A lot. He couldn't hide the flinch._

_The doctor frowned in disappointment. “Tch. If just that hurt him, he’ll need time before we can check our work.” Just like always, they talked about him like he wasn’t even there._

_“Huh?”_

_Even saying that much was a dreadful mistake. Blood poured from his mouth, and he could do nothing to dampen it. Someone rushed up and pulled his mouth all the way open, and he couldn’t help it. His hands flew up to pull them away, further hurting him, and—oh, no. No. He had ruined everything. As his hands dropped away and gauze pads were pressed against his teeth, he awaited the too-familiar prick of the sedative at his neck._

_He could see the nurse rushing forward, but, amazingly, she was stopped. Someone in a suit. A school committee member?_

_“Let the poor boy feel something. He just woke up; you don’t need to put him back to sleep so fast.” The man walked up and patted him on the head, rubbing his hair. He winced at the contact—the man wasn’t exactly gentle._

_“Come on, son. Get up. Go get some rest.”_

_Hajime had no idea what this was, but it surely wasn’t kindness. He wasn’t even sure if he could get up. But the doctors acquiesced to the suit’s demands and unstrapped his legs. He held out an ungloved hand to Hajime. His nails were clean and shiny, manicured. His palms were soft against Hajime’s calluses and pinpricks. Even moving with the IVs was almost unbearable. But he wouldn’t complain. He wouldn’t be sedated. He tried to stand; he really did. But the instant he put weight on his legs, the absolute agony overtook him._

_He collapsed, passing out._

Hajime shook awake, drenched in a cold sweat. He rubbed at his face, opened his mouth. It didn’t hurt. 

The clock read 7:26 pm. 

He sat up, not trusting his legs as he swung them over the bed. But his legs supported him when he stood. Dinner started at 7:30. The others must have been worried by now—usually he made dinner. Not bothering to change clothes or put on shoes, he bolted down to the kitchen. 

The others startled to attention from a meal of boxed macaroni as he rushed in. “I’m so sorry, I just woke up--”

“I tried to wake you up for 20 minutes, asshole,” Kuzuryuu spat good-naturedly. “But you were really fuckin’ out. And you locked your door.”

“We assumed you wanted to be left alone,” Akane piped up, mouth still full of food. “You kinda looked a mess when we got all our stuff.” 

Sonia slid him a plate, casting him a worried look. She knew more than everyone else, and she was brave enough to confront him about it. He started to steel himself to be forced to talk about what happened.

He wasn’t very hungry. Though he knew he was supposed to eat far more than everyone else, due to the physical modifications, he was rarely hungry. His body was still adjusted to roughing it as best it could. But his body needed to be taken care of, and he didn’t want the others worrying about him, so he ate. Everyone else happily conversed, but he ate quietly, unable to shake the dream he had. No, not a dream. A memory he had shoved out, forcing its way back in. Something he didn’t want to confront, slapping him across the face. 

_I had the dream as well._

He sighed, putting his head in his hands (It was beginning to feel like a depressingly familiar position.). _What do you want, Izuru?_

_Talk to someone. You are not doing well._

_Ultimate therapist, much?_

_Hajime. Do not be childish._

_I don’t want to talk about it, Izuru. Remembering it is bad enough._

_Go talk to Sonia, or I will do it for you. You already are in great emotional distress. If you want some time alone, I will take over for a little while._

_No. I’m okay._

_If you say so._ If Izuru could be disappointed in him, he definitely was. It stung more than Hajime thought it would. 

As he went to wash his dishes, Sonia came up next to him. “Can we talk?” she asked him quietly. “I have something for you.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I need to talk to you, too.”

They walked outside together, letting the late summer breeze wash over them. He sat down, and she settled down next to him, smoothing out her skirt. 

“I am worried for you, Hajime. You do not seem to be doing very well.” Her blue eyes bored into him. Sonia had always been quite perceptive and whip-smart, even if her common sense was lacking. Hajime considered her a dear friend. She took his hand in her own, sighing deeply. “Please tell me what is bothering you.”

He hung his head, shoulders slumping as he talked. “I can barely recognize myself in the mirror. When I sleep, I remember things.” He leaned in close, dropping his voice. “Izuru is still there. He talks to me. He takes over when I get overwhelmed, or, at least, he says he’s going to. I just...it’s so hard to make sense of things. We’re basically stuck in a hospital, and I can’t even look at a hospital gown without freaking out, never mind a needle.”

She nodded slowly. “I just wanted to say that I am here for you. And I brought you something.”

She opened his palm and dropped a small baggie of pills into it. “I can hear you walking around at night. I found these to help you sleep.”

Sleeping pills. She had brought him sleeping pills. They were white, but in the late evening light they looked to be about the same color as the sedative that had been so often used on him. He shook his head and closed his fist, not wanting to look at them. “I can’t...I can’t use these.” Sedatives. She had given him sedatives. The thought of taking them made him feel sick. 

She looked at him long and hard, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. It felt comfortingly familial. “You are a dear friend, Hajime. And you are not sleeping. Please, take one. For me.”

He took a steadying breath. Pills and sedatives weren’t the same. He could separate them. For his friend—his sister. And she was right. He needed real sleep. “I’ll do my best, Sonia.” 

She nodded happily. “I will see you in the morning, then. I am off to go to sleep myself. And you should too. You look terrible.” As she flounced away, Hajime looked back down at the pills in his hand. He had just woken up, but he knew his body ached for a good night’s rest. 

He sighed. “I really am a mess.”

Dusting off his pants, he stood up and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a cup and turned the tap. He couldn’t bring himself to swallow more than one. Within minutes his bed called him and he answered.

The clock read 8:34 pm. 

_He came to on the floor. There was a flurry of activity around him—surgeons beginning to pick him up, the nurse frantically fixing his IV lines, the committee man standing back, looking a little sheepish as the head doctor gave him a stern talking-to. He chose to focus on that conversation. It was more interesting than being manhandled, that was for sure._

_“You CANNOT just tell him to do things like that! The subject is in very fragile condition. A single fall could make us lose absolutely everything! You saw what happened just when he opened his mouth. Why would you tell him to GET UP, knowing he just had a procedure done on his legs?”_

_The man rubbed the back of his neck. Hajime was shoved into the arms of a particularly burly surgeon, who was much more careful than anyone else had been as he was lowered back onto the operating table._

_“I didn’t mean any harm by it!”_

_“Well, you certainly made him do some damage. His arms are bound to be a mess. And what of his mouth and legs? He can’t even talk right now, and he fell face-first. You’ve set us at LEAST a day behind schedule with him. You ought to be more careful with such a valuable resource. We’re not going to be able to replicate what we’re doing here. He’s all we’ve got. BE CAREFUL WITH HIM.”_

_The committee member nodded. “Duly noted.” He walked over to Hajime, waving to him. Hajime’s eyesight was bleary. A nurse was propping his head up while a different doctor bandaged his mouth, then tied it off. Gagging him. Even if he was able to speak before, now he couldn’t even open his mouth. His throat tasted like blood. He didn’t particularly like the flavor._

_“Hiya, son!” The committee member was jovial. He rubbed Hajime’s head again. Like he was a dog or something. Hajime decided he didn’t like him. “Sorry about all that. I shouldn't've told you to get up, should I?”_

_As best as he could, Hajime shook his head. He hoped his distaste was coming through in his eyes, but a dazed teenager in a hospital gown isn’t exactly the most intimidating person on the planet. That same surgeon who had held him before lifted him off the table and into a wheelchair. His eyes burned holes into the committee member’s ever-smiling face as he was wheeled into his room._

_The head doctor was pacing in his room when he arrived, the nurse sitting quietly beside him. “Hinata. You just caused us a lot of trouble.”_

_Hajime nodded as best he could and tried to seem apologetic, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t do anything to say sorry except look a little sad._

_“Now, I know he’s a committee member, and I know you’re still waking up, but you only listen to the doctors from now on, okay?” But the doctors themselves had unstrapped him. He thought he was SUPPOSED to get up. The doctor walked over and grabbed him by the chin, yanking his head up._

_It was an effort not to scream._

_“We gave you the singing talent today. Alongside the running talent. You need to recover quickly so we can test you. Taking falls like that will only slow you down.” He beckoned the nurse over. “You’re going back to sleep for a little while. You’ll be fed and bathed in the morning. Capitalize on this rest, Hinata.” Fed and bathed. Implying he wasn’t going to do it himself._

_He tried to avoid the needle, but once again the familiar pinch pierced him. “Just remember. You’re doing this for the greater good. Sleep well.” The doctor walked out of the room._

_Hajime could feel himself shutting down as he was moved from chair to bed, forcibly redressed in night clothes by the nurse, who pushed his hair aside and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well.”_

_It felt like she was mocking him._

Hajime woke up yet again, panting and sweaty. Somehow...somehow, that one had been worse. 

_Is that how you felt all the time, Izuru? Like a doll? Like you couldn’t do anything?_

He took a while before he answered. _Yes._

Hajime sighed and turned over. God. 

His thoughts, in an effort to not think about what he had just remembered, wandered, of all things, to Komaeda. If he could focus, he could recall what he smelled like—cucumber soap. 

_“I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside of you.”_ He didn’t know what Ko had been trying to say. If it was a confession, or just his way of saying…something? He didn’t know. 

_I can ask him when I wake him up._ Ko had a lot of things to answer for when he was awakened. He had to answer to everyone, not just Hajime. But he was sure Izuru especially had his own set of questions for him. 

_Izuru. What were you and Komaeda?_

_You could easily find out for yourself. When I was captured they took my journal. I am assuming it is now with all the other things you collected if the key was there as well._

The clock read 6:54 am. Hajime wasn’t going to fall back asleep. And if his dreams were going to just be things he didn’t want to remember, there was no use in avoiding journals under the pretense of nightmares. It would do him good to have clarity.

He got up and took Izuru’s journal in his hands. _Are you sure you’re alright with me reading your journal?_

 _I have nothing to hide from you. You deserve to know what happened._  
And with that, he retreated. 

The journal’s cover was worn soft and smooth, likely from years of being carried around. Unlike most everyone else’s things, it wasn’t bloodstained, or at least the cover wasn’t. It was a thick book. This would likely take a while to get through—assuming Hajime was able to finish it. Truth be told, he had only skimmed his own journal, except for a few specific entries. He didn’t want to know what had happened to him. But he needed to.

He opened the book.


	3. Izuru and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime begins to read Izuru’s journal. He doesn’t like what he finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Another heads up, this chapter has spoilers for Despair Arc of DR3, and also multiple mentions of suicide. If this is a trigger for you, please click away. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy! - fen <3

_There was another journal here. They took it before I could open it. I assume it was mine beforehand. It is likely they did not want me to read what was inside._

_It’s boring how predictable they are._

_I have no use for this. There is nothing to do and nothing to say._

Expecting empty pages, he turned over the page to full sheets of small, immaculate handwriting, and his breaths began to stick to his throat when he saw the name. Her name. 

_It seems I may have a use for this after all._

_Two girls broke in today. Twins. Junko Enoshima and Mukuro Ikusaba. There isn’t much to say about Ikusaba other than she has an impressive devotion to her sister, for someone who seemingly treats her so badly. I thought she would be a harder fight, as she is clearly of military background. But defeating her was nothing._

_Enoshima was different from her sister. She was oozing cold intellect. She is someone who has always been twelve steps ahead of everyone else and approached me in that fashion, ranting, raving mad about despair. About its unpredictability. Begging me to embrace it, embrace her._

_She didn’t predict I would put her on the ground so quickly. But that only seemed to encourage her. The harder I held her down, the more manic she became. She promised me excitement. Her eyes felt like they bore holes in me, like she was picking me apart from the inside out. She knows that I am bored._

_A bare bed and a journal I don’t want to write in are all I have. If she can change that, I am willing to hear what she has to say._

_Like she said, I exist in purgatory. Endless monotony. Whatever you want to call it, I live in it. Nothing ever changes, nothing has changed since I awoke. Everything exists in a ceaseless routine. As soon as the bandages were off, and the scabs turned to scars, I was left in here._

_The only changes are which parts of me the doctors poke and prod at. At least there is some variety in how I am to be demeaned. Once a week they pull me into a white room and strip me down to my underwear, without a thought for the privacy I’d prefer to have. Once I’m shoved down onto the table, the examinations begin. Most recently they were looking at my chest and lungs, putting so many electrodes and sensors on me that I looked like a car battery. I showed no resistance, and yet they put my wrists and ankles into restraints. I asked why, especially since it would be no problem to break them._

_They tell me I used to struggle. That I would need to be held down and sedated because I wasn’t compliant. I am very compliant now, even when they do things I don’t like. I wonder if they did that to me. I think it was on purpose._

_The stethoscope was cold. I asked if I could have my clothes back and they told me no. If I ask for much of anything, I will be told no. I am given no choice but to do what they tell me, when they tell me to do it._

_The head doctor likes to think of himself as my paternal figure. He even calls me his son. “I created you from nothing,” he says near-constantly. He rubs my head, pats my shoulder. He likes to look at the scars on my forehead, reminding himself of his good work. I do not like it when he touches me. I do not like him. “I created you from nothing.” That does not speak much of what I was before._

_Who knew that becoming everything would lead to feeling empty? If I do feel at all. I am not sure that I have capacity for emotion. Perhaps that is hypocritical of me. I am bored. Boredom is an emotion. It is one that I do not know if I can shake myself out of._

_They don’t always give my clothes back. Sometimes I am forced to wait for them as they are cleaned. I suspect it is an excuse to demean me longer, to examine me like a prize racehorse. Three different doctors will work at once, making sure no part of me goes without proper scrutiny. Flashlights shine in my eyes while I get hooked up to machines that betray my vitals to them. My mouth will be forced open to check my teeth and throat. Medicine will be put in the oxygen masks to make me sleep, so I do not know what they do to me as they work. They murmur about me among themselves as they work, seeming to forget that they gave me perfect hearing. When they talk of me, it’s like I’m not even there._

_It is like they do not see me as human. Perhaps I am not human. But whether I am something more or something less, I do not yet know. I won’t know until I get outside. Until I see the sky and what it can offer me. Logically, I know I must have seen the sky before. They haven’t told me how old I am but judging from my body I am at least 16, likely older. I had a life before I was me, where I was outside. Where I wasn’t the favored toy of Hope’s Peak Academy._

_Enoshima will likely seek to use me as well. It is something I suppose I should become accustomed to. If she does, it gives more weight to the theory that I am less than human. For now, that is my favored hypothesis. I know that humans are supposed to treat each other equally. Even talentless, useless ants like the doctors exhibit signs of showing respect and kindness to each other. It is not extended to me. I am manhandled and stripped of any right to privacy. Everything is recorded and monitored. There are no longer cameras in here, but only because I removed them._

_If Enoshima had been caught, I would have lost my way out. I wait for her return because I cannot decide whether this room or the outside is more interesting. It is likely that they will have a similar feeling. But I cannot come to a conclusion unless all options are explored._

_After the girls fled the doctors swarmed me. They were terrified that I had been found. They do not want me turning against them. They do not seem to realize that they do not have my loyalty and never will. All I feel towards them is apathy. Annoyance. I told them I had seen nothing and nobody._

_I was still carted away into the white room. “Emergency testing,” they said. “While we’re all here, we might as well check on you.”_

_There were numerous surgeries performed on me, and they track the results often. They don’t want anything to break in their precious toy. So there I was again, being shoved around, a syringe being pushed into my spine to help bolster my immune system. In their great quest to make me perfect, they accidentally immunocompromised me. It’s part of their excuse for keeping me in constant solitude._

_I am... tired of the doctors. I am tired of being manhandled and stripped and poked and prodded and stuck with IVs and needles until I fall asleep or otherwise react appropriately on their terms. Everything is on their terms, and nothing is on my own. Perhaps Enoshima’s terms will be more interesting._

_I am suffocating in this boredom. Soon I pray it will change, and I have the feeling that it will._

_End of entry._

Hajime swallowed hard and laid back on his bed, a lot of things swirling about in his head. Even if he didn’t remember writing in his own journal, the events had seemed familiar, like they were just out of his reach. They, unfortunately, like the dreams he was having, would likely come back to him eventually. When things had calmed down and he and Izuru were used to sharing headspace, things would probably become a bit less…tangled up. 

But the words in this journal were different. Nothing about them was familiar. These were memories he didn’t have. These things didn’t happen to him. But it made sense that the testing and casual dehumanizing hadn’t stopped. 

No wonder Hajime had to fight to not keep a stranglehold on any control he could get. Every last bit of it had been taken from him. From them both. Not a single doctor had shown him even the most basic respect. He had been treated like an object for what seemed like months. Perhaps longer for Izuru. They had been tossed around, tied to strings and told to dance. 

_I should talk to someone about this._ About what happened. But it was hard to talk about things he was only beginning to remember. And he…he didn’t like being vulnerable. The others looked to him as a leader of sorts. He wanted to take care of them. If he was honest, he was afraid that if he made everything clear, they’d start to baby him. Take his independence away, just like before. His freedom was, in a very real sense, all he had. And it was a recent gift. The options, the choices he now had…he hadn’t had in years. 

It was still early in the morning. He could keep reading. Maybe he’d find something that unscrambled his head some. Even his memories before the project were scattered and piecemeal. He remembered Chiaki. He remembered his mom and dad. He remembered his friends from his old school. But almost everything from his time at Hope’s Peak aside from Chiaki and the situation with Sato and Natsumi was utterly missing. That included the Kamukura Project—though he had an unfortunate feeling that those memories were beginning to come back. He knew they would all eventually return, but not knowing simple things about himself was frustrating. He didn’t even know his middle name. 

And then there was the fact that he was apparently immunocompromised. Hajime was someone who didn’t get sick often. It seemed that was about to change. He cracked the book back open. He swore the corner of the newest page was bloodstained.

_Enoshima did come back to take me on a date. At least, those were her words._

_I saw the sky. It was pretty._

_It was disappointing._

_She came after me with a bat, I suppose to spice things up. I was dragged into a classroom full of people, made to stand among them as they frantically killed each other off._

Hajime’s blood ran cold at the matter-of-fact tone. So Makoto’s killing game hadn’t been her first. 

_She blamed the deaths on me, telling the school’s Reserve Course that their money had been used to make me, and that I was responsible for the destruction of their student council. I only killed one, the last boy standing. But he came after me with a gun and a chainsaw. I had to defend myself._

_He managed to graze me with a bullet. So it seems that I was not made invincible after all._

_Perhaps Enoshima’s darling despair has some weight to it._

_I have stayed with her and her sister, being dragged around wherever they seem fit to pull me next. We ended up underground. There was fuss about a video that Enoshima had made and edited of the killings, with some forcibly given help from a small, skinny boy. He looked unhealthy, and he was afraid. As he should be, I suppose. I can see the fear Enoshima gathers around her and uses to her advantage._

_But something else happened that I did not expect. Two others came down into where we were staying. A girl and a boy. They were...odd._

_The girl recognized me. But the boy did not know me. He looked rather strange—his hair was stark white._

_He was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, even when he pointed a gun at me._

Komaeda. So this is how they had met. It seemed that he had enamored both Hajime and Izuru, equally as easily. He swore he could still feel slender fingers on his arm, pulling him along as they ran around, investigating Byakuya’s death. Hajime missed him. 

_His talent is luck. He said he would bring hope by killing Enoshima. But he didn’t know that I had luck as well. The look in his eyes when I even touched him was something I do not understand. It was something like awe._

_I shot him._

_I shot him and he survived. A student’s handbook in his breast pocket took the bullet and saved him. His luck balancing out his jammed gun. I want to know more about him. But the girl interfered. She called me Hinata. Asked why I looked the way I did. I do not know her, and I told her as such. This seemed to upset her._

Chiaki. Chiaki and Komaeda had met Izuru. Hajime bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that this journal entry didn’t end terribly. 

_Before I could ask any more of either of them, another woman came running down the stairs. She threw a fire extinguisher to get our attention. The girl and boy ran in the smoke. I wonder if I’ll see them again._

_Enoshima took to the woman immediately. I watched. There wasn’t else much I could do. That name was stuck in my head. Hinata. It could have been mine. But I do not recognize it, and the doctors weren’t there for me to ask._

_If fortune continues to shine upon me, I will never be in the grasp of them ever again. I will be able to find my own answers._

_Ikusaba and Enoshima restrained the woman to a chair. Extolled the virtues of despair and promised her that she would soon experience them. Had a Reserve Course boy to kill himself in front of us—kill himself slowly and painfully. Made him saw his own head off while he screamed. Forced her to watch the video everyone had made such a fuss over. While Enoshima left to do some other work, I watched. Watching, it seems, is one of my talents as well. The woman...Yukizome, they called her._

Miss Yukizome, Hajime did remember. She had been sweet to him, treated him the same way she treated her Ultimate students. The next time Makoto was here (in three days, to check on them), he would have to ask about her. He hoped she was alright. But from this entry, he doubted it. 

_She wasn’t reacting the way Ikusaba wanted. So she took needles and put them into Yukizome’s head, stimulating her brain into something obscene. She forced an association with pleasure and despair._

_Afterwards, she was not the same. She had given in, like the boy they brought in beforehand. His blood is still on my shoes. Ikusaba let her out, told her what to do in no uncertain terms, and let her loose. I had a feeling that something very important was about to begin._

Hajime sucked in a breath and bit his tongue, his stomach twisting up with dread. He remembered none of this, and he was glad of it. It would seem Izuru had his own cross to bear, his own horrendous memories to sort out. Almost without thinking about it, he got up, found yesterday’s pants, and pulled out the key and clip. Nagito and Chiaki. Obviously, the two meant something to Izuru, and had meant something to him for a while. Hopefully that meant Chiaki would be alright for at least a little while longer. He knew she was...dead, but he could hope that she had gone easily and quickly. And not anytime soon. 

_All the students were coerced into gathering in a room, a room full of screens showing what was about to happen. All except one. The girl who I saw before. Who called me Hinata. She was shoved into some sort of maze. Like a video game._

Hajime gulped.

_It was a death game of Enoshima’s own design. One that she had little to no chance of surviving, especially with her knee and foot being taken out. She fought valiantly. I can give her that. But it was not enough. She was misled by Enoshima into thinking she could survive. There was a door, a door that said “goal” on it. She thought her classmates were in there._

_Instead seventeen spears ran her through._

He dropped the book, his hands shaking violently. This was...this was too much. He could feel Izuru stirring in the back of his head, coming forward and preparing to take over if needed. God, Chiaki. She died...like that? 

He forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and grounding himself. He had to finish the entry. He had to know what happened. Slowly, cautiously, he picked up the journal and found the page.

_I came into the room, expecting a body. But she was alive, barely clinging on. She called for me. Called me...called me Hinata again. I asked if that was me. If I was Hinata. I told her that whoever was here before was gone. Cleared out for me. She made it plain that she didn’t want to die. She was crying. She wanted to stay with her class. But she wasn’t going to see them again. She reached out for me, and said she wished we could have played more games together._

Hajime angrily pushed away tears and blocked out whatever Izuru was trying to say to him. “I’m....I’m sorry, Chiaki,” he forced out from gritted teeth. “I fucked up, and it cost you your life.” She was another body he would carry on his back to his grave. Another death he was responsible for. Another apology he’d never be able to make. 

_Before I could say anything back, she was dead. Her hairclip fell out. It sits in my pocket now._

_I cried. I cried and I don’t know why. I did not know her. Whoever she did know, whoever I was before, is gone. Hinata is gone. So why am I crying over her? Why did looking at her body feel like stabbing myself in the gut?_

_Is this what despair is? To not understand your own pain?_

_Hinata is gone, and I have no need to cry over this girl. I don’t even know her name._

_Before I could even begin to process what had happened, I was being pulled away again. This time, Enoshima and Ikusaba shoved me into another room. The Reserve Course had begun to riot, growing more violent by the second. Enoshima—Junko—looked manic, absolutely delighted with herself. She called it the end of Hope’s Peak High School._

_It was an end to be spoken of. It was utter carnage._

_But while it was happening, Junko apparently became bored of the view. She shoved Ikusaba out and told her to go see if the roof was clear. The instant Mukuro left, Junko threw herself at me. Her mouth crashed into mine before I could shove her off. There were hands around my throat and her nails broke the skin of my neck. I had to yank her from me. I can still taste her lip gloss in my mouth._

_I’m certain I hurt her when I threw her. She landed across the room. But she laughed when she landed. “Thanks for the smooch, Zuzu!” is what she said. “Assuming the doctors didn’t pull any funny business, I got your first kiss!”_

_I do not think I like Junko Enoshima._

_We later moved to a roof, for a “better view of the finale.” Before long, she sent yet another video to the Reserve students. We watched them kill themselves with wild abandon. Throwing themselves off buildings and into fire._

_It was madness. It was not enough to show me whether hope or despair had a greater unpredictability. Junko promised me it was her despair that she loved so much. I am not so sure. I have a to find a way to test hope. Place it against what I have seen of despair._

_I left. Junko got upset after I began to go. I had to tell her that we would meet again before she would let me leave in peace._

_As I went to leave, I passed by the girl’s class. The boy was there, the one from before. He saw me. I saw him._

_His name is Nagito Komaeda, and he is sitting next to me as I write this. I do not think I will be rid of him anytime soon._

_End of entry._

Hajime’s head spun. He closed that horrible journal and fumbled his way to a chair. Izuru. He was hovering very close to the front now, where they could easily speak. _Izuru, please. Take over. I need...I need some time._

_Very well. I will keep you safe._


	4. Good Morning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru begins to front. As he expected, he doesn’t receive a very warm welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I hope you like the new chapter :3 — fen <3

Izuru stood over his journal, running a hand through his hair. It was short. Too short. He checked the clock—7:19 am. He didn’t know when Hajime typically started his day, but he did know that he was hungry. Hajime didn’t know how to understand their body’s signs yet—how they were different from normal. He was underfeeding himself, severely, and it was soon to catch up with him. But Hajime had retreated deep and would likely be there for a while. It was better to just leave him a note.

There was no doubt that while his journal would hurt him, it was necessary for him to read it. He needed to know what had happened, especially once Nagito awakened. And Izuru...for Hajime...he would take on the burden of the medical journal. He needed to know how he had been created. He didn’t remember—it made sense that he didn’t. He didn’t exist then. 

Izuru walked to the closet, folding Hajime’s old clothes and putting them in the makeshift hamper. All he had clean were the suits, but he had a feeling that his headmate wasn’t one for them. He elected for just the shirt and pants, foregoing the jacket and tie. They weren’t really necessary anymore. Nagito’s key and Chiaki’s clip were still on the bed. He closed his eyes, pressed the key to his lips. _I miss him._ And he did. Desperately. They hadn’t left each other for years. Izuru only knew that he could feel things aside from boredom, things like contentment...even love, because of Nagito. From what he had gathered when he and Hajime were awakened and unsure of what was going on, Nagito was not among his current set of companions. 

He didn’t know if Hajime had told anyone that he remained, or if it was to him to explain their situation. He dressed and went to the bathroom to wash his face. And to see himself. He had no idea what he looked like. 

The mirror told a stark truth. It seemed the awakening had shoved them together in more than one sense. His hair was still dark, but now it was choppily cut to Hajime’s preferred length, and as for his eyes? 

One red. One green. Neither quite his, neither quite Hajime’s. He was sure the next time he fronted, his hair would be dyed back to Hajime’s color. Izuru could live with that. He had accepted that he had far less claim to this body. He was a protector now. Hajime was recovering, trying to sort out memories that he had never had to contend with. 

He washed his face, taking stock of where everything was. Hajime wasn’t messy, not by any means, but Izuru was by nature a perfectionist. The bed was made and everything neatly stored before he left the room. He didn’t know where the kitchen was. He didn’t know where anything was.

The last time he had been here, he had been shoved into a cell. A cell, then a pod. He knew nothing of the layout. But he wasn’t to wander for long.

A woman came out from her door—Sonia. Izuru hadn’t seen her in a long time. She was no longer in the ridiculous fussy gowns and jewels she used to adorn herself in, instead in a short dress and a hairbow. It suited her more. 

She took note of him and smiled, coming over.  
“Good morning to you, Hajime! But…” her smile faded as she took in his dress, his expression. “I am not talking to Hajime, am I?” 

He shook his head. “Hajime asked me to front for a while. It is…nice to see you again.” He didn’t speak of why he was here. They had agreed to respect each other’s privacy in that manner. “You are different.”

She sighed. “I am glad of it. But you…you haven’t changed, have you, Izuru?” 

He shook his head. _I want my hair back._ The lack of the familiar weight set him on edge. “I haven’t had much time to adjust. Hajime has been fronting since we woke up.” 

She smoothed his hair back, a maternal air about her that she hadn’t had before. She was older now, a true princess in every sense of the word, ready to take care of anyone who she thought needed it. Someone he could bear to let touch him. “You carry yourself differently from him.” She tapped him on the nose. “You stand up straighter.” Something softened in her expression, a bit of sadness entering her face. Her voice lowered. “Your eyes are emptier.”

He knew they were. Hajime felt things deeply, let things stay inside him and change him. Izuru was simply not made to do that. Even if he was able to feel that strongly (and even now, he wasn’t sure he could), things would never hold as much weight to him as they did Hajime.

“Perhaps they are, but it cannot be avoided.” He decided to change the subject. “I hate to ask, but I do not know where the kitchen is.”

She nodded quickly. “Let me show you, then.” As they walked, she turned back to him. “Do the others know of you? I know Hajime told me you remained, but I am not sure if the others know yet.”

He shook his head. “We do not share memories. I do not know who has been told of me and who has not. I am not even entirely sure who is awake.”

They turned into the kitchen, and Izuru got his answer. Akane Owari. Kazuichi Souda. Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu. Sonia Nevermind. And Hajime Hinata, accompanied by Izuru Kamukura. Only they had survived the game...the game of his making. 

_I did this. I did this because I was bored._ He wasn’t sure whether he felt guilty or not yet. Whether he was capable of guilt remained to be seen. Not saying anything (as there was nothing to be said), he began to prepare something for himself. But as he was cooking, Kazuichi came up beside him, giving him a hard slap on the back. 

“Mornin’, Hajime! What’s with the cold shoulder? Have a bad night or somethin’?”

He looked over, their eyes meeting. There was no “polite” way to say this, and he wasn’t about to claim that he was someone he wasn’t and would never be for the sake of relieving awkwardness.

“I am not Hajime.” Short, sweet, and to the point. Just loud enough for everyone to hear. And, like he had predicted, every pair of eyes was on him. 

“Huh? What the fuck does that mean?” So Kuzuryu’s foul mouth hadn’t sweetened in his absence. It made sense. And it seemed only Sonia had been aware that he remained.

“I am Izuru.” He didn’t give an explanation, as he didn’t think they were necessarily owed one. “Hajime will be back later.” He turned back to cooking his eggs. 

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and it was a fight not to attack with the spatula or jerk away. Fuyuhiko had come up to him, while Kazuichi had shrunk back. “Say that again?” he seethed, anger pouring out of him in waves. It didn’t offend Izuru. He earned their hatred, for what he had done to the Neo World Program. He had earned it for bringing back Junko. 

But he kept his calm and finished making his egg, sliding in on top of some toast. Utterly ignoring Fuyuhiko, he moved on to washing his hands before he ate. He didn’t feel the need to repeat himself. He had made the circumstances clear. He was here now. He didn’t understand why that was so difficult to grasp. 

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me!” Fuyuhiko yanked on his shoulder, until he was forced to look back at him. “This’d better be a bad fuckin’ joke, Hinata.” Fuyuhiko had grown some since they had first met, but there was still a significant height advantage to Izuru.

He sighed. He had just wanted to eat. “It is not a joke. Hajime will be back later. Please let me eat.” 

Fuyuhiko yanked the plate from his hands. “You’re not eating anything or going anywhere until the act is dropped.”

Sonia stood up, the other two watching in dumbfounded silence. “Fuyuhiko, leave him be--”

“Shut up.” Fuyuhiko’s eyes were murderous. “So let’s say you are Kamukura. Fine. Whatever.” He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt (he had to reach up.). “So you think I’d just sit around and let you do as you please? Fuck no.” 

He sighed. It appears nobody understood what he had tried to imply. “It seems I must explain. Hajime and I share a body. We are a system. If he becomes overwhelmed or faces something that I am better suited a dealing with, I will come forth until he is doing better, or the issue is resolved. It is as simple as that.” 

“Why are you even still here?” Akane piped up. “Didn’t Hajime, like, boot you out?”

“It does not work that way, Owari,” he said, taking his plate back and sitting down. “I am my own person. I cannot be “booted out.” This may be his body, but it is also mine, though it does belong more to him than me.” He took a bite of his food, ignoring Fuyuhiko’s glower. “Does that make it clear?”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” Fuyuhiko grumbled. “But you’re on thin fuckin’ ice, Kamukura. You even _breathe_ wrong and I’m shoving your ass in a cell.” 

He took in a long breath through his nose. “Very well.” He finished his food quickly and was gone from the room as soon as he cleaned up after himself. Sonia called after him, but he ignored her as he went off on his own. He didn’t know how long Hajime would need, and he needed to do something with the time he had. 

It didn’t take him long to find the Neo World Program. The room was awash in bluish light as the used pods glowed faintly, the silhouettes of his comrades in despair outlined as they slept on. He first went to the main console, at the center of the room. A little black and white USB stick was hidden there, one he had slipped in as he was being shoved into a pod of his own. Just out of sight, just out of reach. Such a little thing had caused so much damage.

Such was the nature of despair, he supposed.

He took it out and smashed it under his shoe, over and over and over again. For Hajime. For Chiaki. For Nagito. For himself. For everything Junko had done to him—every kiss he didn’t want, every time he woke up in a bed he didn’t recognize, every bruise and bite and broken rib she had inflicted on him, every mark the knife left on his arms and legs. For every time she grabbed him by the chin and wrote words of ownership all over his neck with pink sparkly gel pen. 

Every way she dehumanized him was another stomp of his foot. His hair being pulled. _Stomp._ Her calling him her favorite pet. _Stomp._ Being forced to do what she wanted, when she wanted it. _Stomp._

There were a thousand things and more she had done to him. Technically she had been supposed to be locked in Hope’s Peak with her precious 78th class. But she had given herself a way out, to slip away unnoticed once every month or so and come torment them in her own special way. If he thought about it, he could feel himself being slammed into the asphalt for the first time. 

_“It’s payback, Izzy! You shoved me into the ground, so let me do the same. Doesn’t it feel just GREAT, babe?”_

He shook his head. _Go away. You are dead._ But she never really did. She would always haunt and hound him for the rest of his life, he suspected. 

But crushing that virus wasn’t the only thing he came to do. He walked through the pods, his steps light and silent. It wasn’t until he reached the very end that he found him. He leaned down over Nagito’s sleeping form, something inside him aching.

“Hello, beloved.” He was lovely when he slept, all the hidden cares and worries he laid on himself wiped away. Nagito was graceful, ethereal. Beautiful in every way, even if he couldn’t see it. 

He kneeled beside the pod, placing a hand on the glass separating them. “I have missed you,” he mumbled, his breath fogging the glass. “I didn’t know I could miss people. There’s another emotion you showed me.” He fished the key from his pocket. “Hajime found the key. He thought it was strange when I told him what it was for...expect him to ask you about it with you awaken.”

He looked fondly at the other boy. “Do you love Hajime, too?” he asked softly. “Because I think he loves you. Loves you...maybe even more than I do. More than I am able to.”

He just sat there for a while, listening to the mechanical beep of the machines that kept everyone alive. Even though everyone else slept on, they were still probably more alive than him. His eyes were trained on the remains of the USB across the room. Junko was well and truly gone forever. Hajime had destroyed her. Hope had won.

So why did having an answer to that question feel so unsatisfying?


	5. Converse and Convert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru and Souda have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you’ll finally get a little more Nagito content in this chapter, and perhaps a little surprise in the next one >:)
> 
> enjoy! <3 -fen

Izuru sat next to Nagito in silence for four hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-six seconds. The quiet was finally interrupted by the opening of a door—Kazuichi.

He edged in nervously, sitting himself down across from Izuru. “H-hey…”

“Yes?”

The mechanic pulled his knees to his chest. Izuru was used to seeing him in primarily black, but he sat there in a bright yellow jumpsuit. Like Sonia, it suited him far more. He looked like himself. 

“I came to ask…about Hajime.”

He stiffened a bit, sensing Hajime come forward at the mention of his name. “I am not going to betray his privacy to you, Kazuichi.” 

He held his hands up. “I wasn’t gonna ask specifics. I just wanna know…if he’s doing okay.”

Izuru considered him for a minute, then shook his head. “He is not.” Kazuichi was a good friend to Hajime. He knew that. While Izuru knew him as a nearly mindless destructive force, the person who sat before him was quite different. Though still boneheaded, his nature had changed—rather, reverted. A good man, if somewhat dense. Someone who cared deeply for his friends. “He will be alright. He will return when he is. I do not expect to be fronting for long.” 

“So then why’re you sitting here alone?” His voice lowered, casting a glance to Nagito. “Y’know, everyone kinda suspected you two were, like...a thing. Then we got grabbed, and we all saw them grab that key from you.” His gaze dipped to the key still in his hand. “I bet you miss him.” He clapped him on the shoulder, apologetically retreating when Izuru jerked away. “Sorry. Forgot about your touch thing.”

He hated being touched. It was something only he had let Nagito do by the end of it all, and even then, that had been a fight for him to earn. He had tolerated touch before Junko, but after that? It was an arduous process to let anyone lay a hand on him. Sonia was only allowed to touch him because of Hajime’s complete and utter trust in her.

He had been absolutely manhandled by the doctors who made him. He could feel the press of hands on his arms and torso and legs, keeping him pinned to an operating table. 

He was already touch-averse when Junko had sunk her claws in. She had figured it out nearly immediately and instantly sought out ways to exploit it.

He would take 1,000 doctors swarming him if it meant Junko Enoshima had never touched him, much less do what she did with such reckless abandon and wild glee. He could still feel the nails raking down his chest. Her bite marks had scarred on his left shoulder, one of the kinder presents she had given to him. 

And it wasn’t just her hands and mouth that she used against him. Small things made people break just as easily as big ones, and Junko was a master of weaponizing small things. It wasn’t just the kissing and choking and touching that he couldn’t bear. It was the tap of a makeup brush against his skin. It was every opportunity she took to tie his tie for him. It was the cloyingly saccharine taste of the strawberry candy that was shoved past his lips when it was decided he hadn’t eaten enough. 

He thought he would choke if he ever tasted artificial strawberry again. 

“It is alright. I would not have expected you to remember.” He cast his gaze to the ceiling, pushing the smell of perfume out of his mind. “I do miss him.” 

“He’s a crazy bastard in and out of despair, but I guess he’s not all bad. After all,” he said, scooting a little closer, his fear easing off. “He’s got you and Hajime head over heels, so he must have something going for him, I guess. I mean, neither of you ever said anything about it, but, like, it’s obvious.” Again, the name called Hajime a little closer to the front—but that was a good thing. It meant he was doing better. If the conversation continued, like this, he was probably going to return to the front soon. It would seem the medical journal would have to wait.

Izuru sighed. “He looked at me differently than everyone else did. He never feared me.”

Souda nodded, tugging at his braid. “To be fair, you were a scary dude. Still are. And besides.” He gestured to the crushed USB port. “You fucked up the program. You made us kill each other off.”

“I know. I know I will have to earn your trust if you decide to give it, and I accept that I do not deserve forgiveness.”

“I don’t get it, though. Why’d you do it?” Kazuichi wore contacts, but that didn’t make his gaze any less piercing. “Why did you do that to us?”

Izuru stood up, casting one last glance to Nagito. We will wake you up soon. He began to walk away. “The answer is selfish. You would not like it.”

“You’re not leaving until you answer me.” His voice wavered, but he stood his ground. An impressive show from him. “Why did you put us through that?”

Izuru met his eyes as he opened the door. “I needed to know which was more unpredictable. Hope or despair. It seems hope won.” 

“You know…” Souda started before Izuru closed the door. “You hurt Hajime, too. You fucked him up. You fucked us all up.”

His voice was faint, overpowered by Izuru’s thoughts. But it was there. He was coming back.

“I didn’t know Hajime existed, Kazuichi.” The shock was evident on his face.

He closed the door instead of leaving and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “From the time that the project was completed to my forcible entry into the Neo World Program, he was shoved so deeply into our headspace that I had no idea he existed. Other than Nanami calling me Hinata, nobody gave me any clues as to who I was before, much less that he persisted, albeit buried. It was only me. And I am sure that he did not know I existed while in the program, either.”

Souda shook his head. “Junko told him that he was you, that he had masterminded the mess. He…he screamed at her that it wasn’t possible. He lost it.” 

“He is not me. He bears no responsibility for my actions. I expect you have been treating him accordingly.” Izuru went to push his hair back and frowned imperceptibly when he found nothing to tuck behind his ears. “All he is guilty of is being manipulated.” Undoubtedly Izuru had been manipulated too. But his actions had given far deadlier consequences. 

He could hear Hajime trying to talk, his voice getting louder and clearer by the second. 

“Oh.”

“Do not pity him, Kazuichi. You will not be doing him any favors.” The other man nodded in understanding, getting up and walking to the opposite door at the end of the room. Izuru began to walk away again, only barely hearing what Souda said as he closed the door behind him. 

“I don’t pity him. If anything, I pity you.” 

Izuru walked down the hall, mulling over Kazuichi’s words. Pity. That was an emotion he had never felt and was sure he would never feel. Pity, and being pitied, was a foreign concept. He had no use for it. 

To be fair, there were a lot of emotions he had no practical use for that he now was able to feel and understand. But things like empathy and pity would forever be lost to him. Some things simply could not be taught, could not be learned, even by him.

Hajime was ready to front—he could feel it. His mind, usually a place of complete clarity, was getting foggy. A headache split through his head, and he sat down against the wall, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

Hajime’s voice cut through the haze. _Are you in a good place to where I can come back? I think I’m doing better now._

_Yes. But you need to start eating more from now on. You aren’t eating enough._

_Sorry. I will._

_You are forgiven._

And with that, Izuru retreated and let Hajime back to the front. For now, at least, his work was done. 

\----------------------

Hajime came to in the hallway, sitting against the wall with a massive headache. It felt like he was just waking up, or maybe like he had just come out from being underwater for a while. He didn’t particularly like the feeling. But as the pain slowly subsided to a dull throb, he made his way back to his feet. 

There was a clock on the wall. It read 1:24 pm. So he really hadn’t been out for that long. A twinge of guilt flickered away at him. I could’ve given Izuru more time. But it couldn’t really be helped, he supposed. 

Still feeling a little bleary, he took stock of his surroundings. The hallway outside of the Neo World Program. What had he been doing there? Cautiously making his way inside, He was met with an empty room. Nothing had changed, except for a little crushed USB port on the ground. It had been smashed to bits. The cracked plastic sheath, however, betrayed its’ identity: this had to have been what Izuru used to upload Junko into the virtual island. And it seemed someone (Izuru, probably), found and smashed it. 

Hajime had no idea what kind of relationship Junko and Izuru had after the Incident, and while he hoped their meetings had ended there, he doubted it. He wouldn’t have uploaded her into the program if he had only known her from those interactions. The only way he’d know for sure is if he read more of Izuru’s journal. He didn’t want to. Honestly, he wanted to burn the thing. But he couldn’t go around with a whole two years of his life unaccounted for. He needed to know what had been wrought with his hands. And until Makoto came back with a doctor to give them the medical and mental all-clear, they had promised to stay inside and rest—take a little time before they began to work on bringing back everyone else. He shouldn’t put the journal off. He should just get it over with.

Miraculously not passing by anyone as he went back to his room, he began a staring contest with the journal sitting innocently on his desk, right next to a pristinely made bed. Just out of curiosity, he poked his head into the bathroom and closet. All completely tidied up. 

He would give the journal another chance. If it caused Hajime to have to step back again, he would leave it at that and never open it again. 

He went to take off his tie, then noticed he wasn’t wearing one. Odd. He thought Izuru would have put himself into a full suit. He did tend to exist in them, after all. 

He sat back on the bed, wrinkling the sheets. He opened the book. 

_I am seeing the outside world now. Junko has sealed herself inside Hope’s Peak with her classmates but promised us (through a text, no less) that we would still be seeing her. I do not have a phone. Komaeda showed me the message._

_I do not know why Komaeda has chosen to accompany me, but he has declared that he will not leave my side. Maybe he really does worship me. Just from a few minutes of being around him, one can tell that the concepts of hope and talent are of deep importance to him. They made me with every talent they could, they called me the Ultimate Hope. It seems I was made for him to adore. Now that we are in close proximity and (I am predicting) will be for some time, I have decided to observe him._

_They cannot be seen unless one looks closely, but he has faint freckles. His hair does not appear to be dyed. And he is skinny. Very skinny. A less perceptive person would not pick up on it, but I can tell immediately. Nagito Komaeda is sick. Very sick. In the bag he has, he carries things that prove this theory. Nestled alongside that very same gun he tried to shoot me with, a veritable pharmacy of medications was safely tucked in. I asked him about them._

_He confirmed my thoughts. “I am sick, Kamukura.”_

_Provided that he does not become too irritating, perhaps I will help care for him. If I can tolerate his presence, if he does not bore me, I will make sure he stays alive. Perhaps even help him recover. But it is too early to think about that._

So, Izuru had known from the start that Ko was sick. Hajime’s stomach tied up when he remembered what Ko had said to him before, that he had a year at most. But according to Junko, Makoto, and the heft of the journal he held, they all had been rampaging for far longer. That meant if Nagito had lived to see the Neo World Program, one of two things had happened. Either his vicious luck took him for another spin, or Izuru had used his talents to help treat the cancer. Perhaps even a mix of both. 

But if the second option was true, then it likely meant Izuru and Ko had stayed together for a long time. Maybe even years. Years that Ko would have and Hajime wouldn’t. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, hoping to God that Makoto had humored him and was bringing back a box of dye with him. He couldn’t stand his hair being dark, much less letting it grow any longer than it was. He acknowledged and accepted that Izuru was never going to leave and that they were very much a team of sorts now, but he still wanted to take away every physical similarity possible. He wanted to look like _Hajime._

_The destruction that began in the academy has spread across the city. The sky went black with smoke before long._

_Tonight, we are sleeping in a wrecked motel. Komaeda is fussy about his cleanliness and the cleanliness of his living space, making both his bed and mine before we even had a chance to shower. His hair makes him look quite disheveled and messy, but he is, perhaps, the cleanest person I’ve ever met._

_He smells like cucumber soap. The scent clings to him and his things. I could even smell it on the gun. It appears that is not a problem I will have to deal with. What I will have to deal with, however, is his rampant self-hatred and deprecation. He constantly puts himself down and shoves me up. It feels like he would take my word as gospel. He almost exclusively refers to himself as worthless trash._

_It is annoying. But annoying is not boring. He asked me something odd as we readied ourselves for sleep._

_“Do you know how to care for yourself, Kamukura?”_

_I did not answer immediately. It was a foolish question. “Of course I do.”_

_“Then why haven’t you eaten?” He had gone out earlier and found a grocery store in the process of being looted. He had managed to sneak in and out with significant provisions. His luck seems to favor us, for now. “You do know you need to eat, right?”_

_He gave me a peach, then sat on the end of my bed. He watches as you eat. It is somewhat off-putting, but it is not done with the intent to cause discomfort. He is simply observing me, the same was I have observed him. “If we are to be together...and you are to tolerate my presence...I am going to make it worth your time. Even if I am worthless, I can be useful.”_

_“How so?” Humans, especially humans with talent, are not inherently useless. Everything has at least one use. And a boy endowed with luck as twisted as his has a myriad of uses._

_“Let me serve you.”_

_Truly, he is strange. “Why put yourself under me like that?”_

_As if asking for permission, he very slowly reached out and touched my face. His hands are different from the doctors’ hands. There was no malice in his grip as he held my chin, his hold gentle and easy to break if I so wanted. I do not like being touched, but I will let him for now. He held me like he was trying to understand what I had said. “You are hope incarnate, Kamukura. My only purpose in life is to serve and foster hope.”_

_I do not think of myself as hope. I am just something. Perhaps a man, perhaps not. But whether I am human or a scientific marionette has yet to be seen. “You may stay with me. If it pleases you, serve me. But if I grow bored of you, I will leave.”_

_There is no use in lying. If he becomes boring, I will be gone. But he nodded fervently, like a child raptly listening to a teacher. He took my hand in his own. “Don’t worry! I’ll do a good job, I promise!”_

_He is not boring. But I do not trust him. He is one of Enoshima’s Despairs, after all. But that doesn’t necessarily make him all bad right from the start. He has potential. I wait to see where this goes._

_End of entry._


	6. Makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the journal is read, and more light is cast on Junko and Izuru’s relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than the others! the next one i’m excited for :) - fen <3

So maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. The entry he had just read had seemed harmless enough, after all. Aside from the second entry, the one about Chiaki, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to get through. His journal had been worse than this. 

Hajime had really only skimmed his journal when he found it, reading what had seemed important. He knew he should read it more thoroughly, place and piece together things that had happened to him. But he didn’t want to. None of the books had anything other than horror stories to tell about him and Izuru. But if he wanted any sort of answer, they would have to be overcome. The new page was smudged with a dusty mauve lipstick.

_There is not much to say. We have left the city. Komaeda’s classmates have seen fit to wreak havoc wherever they go, do what they want, when they want to. But he does not seem to have the same inclination. Mindless destruction does not suit his fancy. We have stayed together instead, simply watching as events escalate._

_He does what he promised. Mostly he makes sure I am eating and resting properly._

_Not much of interest has happened._

_End of Entry._

The next page was much of the same. And the next. And the next. And the next.

“Wow. Riveting.” He flipped to the new page, and his heart sank at the very first sentence. 

_Today was the first visit with Junko. We were all gathered in an old makeup shop, told to wait until she showed. Once she did, it did not become any more pleasant. She listened to us talk about what we had done. Komaeda and I did not have much to say. This seemed to upset her. There was not much to say of Komaeda’s classmates. They all brought tales of carnage, and (as usual) Tsumiki hung all over Junko. She got a boot to the face for her troubles, but this only seemed to encourage her._

_Before too unbearably long (thirty-four minutes), Junko dismissed everyone. But as I turned to leave, she grabbed me by the wrist. “Not you, Zuzu baby.”_

_Everyone else was gone quickly. Komaeda was dutiful and waited outside. I did not know what she wanted with me, and I said as such._

_“To have some fun, of course!”_

_There is not much fun to be had in a makeup store with Junko Enoshima. She shoved me down into a vanity that was slightly less damaged than the others. She leaned down over me. She smells like too-sweet perfume and something artificially saccharine. “You’re my favorite. You know that, right?”_

_I know that I am her favorite and always have been. But it is not a position I would ever wish upon anyone else. Being her favorite means being dragged into whatever she wants, whenever she wants. I have not known Enoshima for long, but I am beginning to suspect that “favorite” is a nice term for “pet.”_

_“I’m gonna doll you up, Zuzu!”_

_I do not like the nicknames. In fact, I do not like anything about her._

_It was like I was a mannequin. She sat herself right on my lap (trapping me) and went to work. She smeared things into my face, pushing heavy liquid into my skin and powder onto my eyes. Whatever she wanted to do, she did with a skillful hand and attention to detail._

_I didn’t even recognize myself when she was done._

_I looked like a doll. Just as she said. Everything about me was covered up. My scars were gone; I looked like I’d never once gone under the knife. She made my face softer. I looked like a stranger. I did not like it and I told her as such._

_I got quite the earful and exactly fifty-seven minutes of pouting. She finally said that if I hated it so much, she’d do it over._

_This time she handcuffed me to the chair so I couldn’t leave before she was done. Unfortunately, the lack of agency felt familiar. It was not my first time being handcuffed to something. If Junko continues in this fashion, it will likely not be the last. During this second session she was harsher, grabbing my face if I didn’t move in the way she wanted to. Her breath smelled like bubblegum. Her mouth tasted like it, too._

_She takes kisses whenever she can, to the point where my mouth is sore. I asked her why she persisted, when I had made it clear that her advances were unwanted._

_I do not want her. I never have. But she continuously shoves herself onto me, calls me pet names. Treats me in the manner that would suggest we share a bed._

_She simply told me that she liked me._

_There are bruises on my cheeks and mouth. There are still lipstick prints on my neck. She says she does it to help me understand despair._

_I think I will throw someone or something off a bridge the next time I hear the word despair pass someone’s lips._

_I managed to remove most of her work before I left (escaped, rather.). Black still lined my eyes, and whatever she left on my neck was smudge-proof. She kissed them on before they dried. I did not want them. I do not want many things she has done to me. But it is almost impossible to stop Junko Enoshima from doing what she wants. I have figured out that much already. She is determined to break me to fit her revolting mindset, and I think this will soon be counted as a kind encounter._

_The marks seemed to upset Komaeda. He held my hair back as I washed them off. He despises Junko and told me as such._

_“I hate her. I hate her...more than I hate myself,” he had said. “Do you hate her?”_

_“I do not know if I am capable of hatred. But I dislike her.”_

_He handed me something to eat and went off on his own. I found myself waiting for him. I did not...want him to leave._

_I do not know why. I do not like not knowing why._

_End of Entry._

Hajime closed the book, something twisting in his gut as it seemed to do when he finished another godawful entry in this godawful book. Every mention of Junko made him feel sick. He set it down, ready to go, he didn’t know, eat or something. Anything to get his mind off Junko. 

As he stood up, noting that his headache had disappeared (thank God), the phone rang. Only one person had the number—the person who had given him the phone in the first place.

Makoto was calling.


	7. Touch-Tone Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime realizes that he may not be doing as well as he thought.

Hajime stared down the phone, realizing how ragged his breaths had become. He had to get his breathing back under control before he answered, but he couldn’t miss the call.

Hajime stared down the phone. He had to get his breathing back under control before he answered, but he couldn’t miss the call. Either would worry Makoto, but missing the call would certainly be worse.

He forced himself to slow down, to focus on things he could see and feel and touch. _My shoes are by the door. There’s a plant on the desk. The phone is ringing. My name is not Izuru Kamukura, and Junko Enoshima is dead._

His breaths slowly evening out, he picked up and answered. “Hello?”

“Hajime?” His voice showed signs of worry. Oh no. “Is that you?”

“Yes. What’s up, Makoto? Why are you calling?” His stomach dropped, and nervousness twisted up in him. It was a fight to keep himself breathing evenly.

“I’m worried about you. Everyone called me earlier and said you weren’t doing well. Sonia said something about the journals I left you, too. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Hajime went silent, the truth staring him in the face. They were right. He wasn’t doing well at all.

“H-hello?” Makoto asked over the phone.

“Hajime?”

“Hajime?”

_“Hajime?!”_

———

Makoto stared at the phone in his hand, hearing only ragged breathing on the other end. It was just as everyone else said when they called him. 

It was Sonia who had started the call, then passed the phone around to everyone else while Izuru was off elsewhere. They all seemed to be recovering well—unexpectedly well. But not Hajime. He had out on an unbelievably strong front. He was holding everyone else together. Supporting them as they, too, had to face and cope with their actions. On the outside, he had it all together. But from what they had said...

“He’s not sleeping. He barely eats. We can hear him walking around at night when he thinks we’re asleep. He says he can barely remember anything about himself aside from everything in the program.”

Sonia had taken back the phone, then, whispering. “He found his journals. I saw him crying when he read one. I cannot speak of the other journals, but I believe they are distressing him. He took them to his room, and I believe he is reading them privately. He confided in me that Izuru remains as an alter to him last night.

“Something in those journals caused Izuru to front. I met him this morning. But Izuru would not tell us what had happened to Hajime—not that we pressed him.”

Kazuichi took over then. “Kamukura is with Komaeda’s pod. He hasn’t left in two hours. I checked. I think I’m...gonna, like, try to talk to him later.” 

Makoto had never read the journals aside from the medical account, and even that one had sickened him. He didn’t ever read the personal journals—he had hidden Hajime’s the second he found it beside the medical record. Not even Byakuya or Kyoko knew about it, much less people like Munakata or Sakukura. The medical record had been received poorly enough as it was. Not even Yukizome, who had mentioned that she knew a boy named Hajime Hinata, knew about this private journal. 

When Izuru was captured and his living space raided, he only had four possessions aside from the clothes on his back—an extra suit, a hair clip, a key, and his own journal. 

Five possessions. They were all he had ever owned.

Makoto had to fight to leave his journal unbothered. It took legitimate pleading to keep his and the other Remnants’ privacy intact.

Now, he began to wish he _had_ read the journals before handing them back so haphazardly.

He held the phone to his ear again, gulping. “Hajime? Are you okay? Is there something bothering you?” _Well, OBVIOUSLY something is bothering him. Use your head, Makoto._

There was no answer on the other end of the line. Just the same breathing, growing more jagged and uneven. If he hadn’t already decided that he was leaving early, this cemented it for him. 

“I’m coming. I’ll be there tomorrow. Hang in there, okay?” He ended the call, immediately shooting Byakuya a text. 

_Leaving early. Cover for me?_

It took him less than five minutes to reply. 

_You’ll owe me, Naegi._

Tucking his phone away, he basically sprinted to his room, throwing a suitcase together, scrambling for the bag of things the 77th class had asked for. The doctor who had agreed to go with him was ready at a moment’s notice and agreed to meet him on the boat after a quick apologetic call. 

They were off to Jabberwock before the hour was out. 

—

Hajime stared at the “CALL ENDED” screen, nervousness overtaking him. The journal was hurting him. He couldn’t even answer Makoto when he had been on the phone. This was...this was bad. He needed to know what happened. He had to know what had happened to Izuru. Not just his relationship with Komaeda...but what he had done. What Junko had done to him. Not only did he need those years of his life explained, but he needed to know what Izuru had gone through. So he could take care of him, too. 

Izuru may have been his protector, but Hajime knew he was just as human as the rest of them. He had to finish the journal before Makoto got here. Before anyone could take it from him. Because, while he hadn’t known Makoto very long, he could predict what would happen, one of Izuru’s talents, no doubt. 

He would be gentle about it. Makoto would sit down with him and coax the truth from him, all of it done with utter kindness and his best understanding. He would talk Hajime down, comforting him until he agreed to actually speak about what he had read or surrender the journal. He wouldn’t take it by force. Makoto didn’t force people to do things. He never did.

Makoto was bringing a doctor to clear them. Hajime was afraid of doctors now. God forbid he was put back onto an operating table. He’d panic, and Izuru would front, and Izuru _also_ hated doctors, maybe even more than he did, and...it would end badly. 

He was counting a little more time to prepare himself for a doctor, but he was stuck with seeing one...tomorrow. 

He sighed, stood up, and stretched. He should probably tell the others that Makoto was coming. But right now, he wanted to be left alone, honestly. _I can leave a note._

He scribbled out the message on a piece of paper, went to slap it down on the kitchen table, and locked his door when he came back. Hopefully, nobody would bother him for a while. 

_I might as well read a little more. It isn’t going to get any easier to read, especially not if it’s taken from me._ With a sigh, he sat down and opened the book. Upon seeing Junko’s name, he slammed it back shut. He’d read his own journal again. Be a little more thorough. He couldn’t...he couldn’t see any more of what Junko had done to Izuru yet. 

_Day fifteen._

_They operated on my arms three days ago. I was only just now able to start writing again. Not to be dramatic, but that was the worst three days of my life. I couldn’t do...anything. Everything had to be done for me, because I couldn’t move my hands and arms._

_But at the very least I can draw now. And sew. And kill a man with my bare hands. They shoved a bunch of things into me. But it came at the cost of my dignity. I couldn’t eat on my own for three days. The nurse had to feed me._

_It was humiliating. She didn’t even try to make it more bearable for me. I mean, it’s only been two weeks, so it could be too early to tell, but nobody really seems to pay attention to me aside from operating on me, testing to be sure the surgery worked, and making sure I stay healthy between surgeries._

_I’ve never once been asked if I’m doing okay. The nurse is nice and all, but she doesn’t talk to me. It’s more like she talks at me, the way a mom talks to a difficult four-year-old. Actually, that’s exactly how she treats me. I don’t get to have an opinion on my own treatment aside from asking for Tylenol. When the doctors are done, she’ll smother me in some sort of saccharine treatment. It’s never once felt real._

_She kisses me goodnight on the nights after surgery. It just makes me miss my mom. But I’m not allowed to call her and tell her I’m okay, or that I miss her. Even if I could call her, they’d probably make me lie to her._

_I miss Mom so much. I haven’t seen her except for the one time I went home for a three-day weekend. And now I can’t even call her. She’s probably worried. The expulsion letter has to have been sent by now._

_I’d honestly be surprised if she hasn’t tried to come to the school and get me. I asked the nurse. She asked the head doctor._

_He told me to stop asking._

_So I have no idea. Really, truly, no idea what they’ve told my mom. I’m going to be in so much trouble. Mom doesn’t even know that I’m here. What I’m going through. She’s going to kill me. But I’ll be talented then, someone she can be proud of. They said they’d transfer me to the main course if all goes well, and that’s how they’d explain the expulsion to my parents. I hope I’m in Chiaki’s class._

_The nurse was feeding me yesterday, and I was so tired I fell asleep while she was in the middle of putting food in my mouth. I always pass out right after I eat. But I’ve never fallen asleep WHILE I’m eating. She woke me back up immediately, to make sure I didn’t choke. But it was embarrassing, and the situation already sucked enough._

_I’m due for another surgery tonight. It’s supposed to be on my lungs. It’ll be a big one, so I’m actually supposed to be asleep right now. I should probably go to bed—but when am I not in bed anymore?_

_I’m tired of sleeping._

Hajime lifted his head away from his own writing, a memory clearing up and engulfing him.

_The nurse told him to open his mouth again. “Come on, I know you’re hungry.” Hajime was too tired and in too much pain to correct her, to ask her to stop shoving food he didn’t want down his throat. He wasn’t hungry. But he opened his mouth anyway, truly too exhausted to fight._

_When he swallowed down a bite of what he assumed was chicken, he looked at the nurse through heavily lidded eyes._

_“Why are you drugging my food?” They must have upped the dosage, because he could barely talk._

_She wiped away something at the edge of his mouth. “We’re putting something in your food to help you recover faster. It makes you sleepy as a side effect.”_

_Hajime was suddenly glad he was laying down—his limbs felt like lead. Even the throbbing in his arms was gone. Another bite of chicken. He could barely chew, much less swallow._

_“I can’t eat anything else.”_

_She shook her head. “You have to finish, Hinata. We’re feeding you what we feed you for a reason. You need to keep your strength up.”_

_He could barely keep his eyes open. His tongue felt like it was twisting into knots. “Why do I need to be...strong...if all I’m doing is being operated on?” The sedative had his inhibitions falling away, letting him express how he really felt. “It’s just surgery, sleep, food, more sleep, and more surgery. I don’t need to be strong for that.”_

_She shook her head, pushing the chopsticks into his mouth. The food had a little bit of a bitter aftertaste, but he’d learned to ignore it. “You don’t really need to worry about it, honey. Just trust us. I’m trying to take as good care of you as I can.” He couldn’t place why. But her words felt fake._

_Before he could say anything, the head doctor bustled in. He looked stressed, stomping towards Hajime and the nurse. His vision was blurring._

_“Is he asleep?”_

_“Not quite.” She pushed another bite between his lips. “He will be soon. In under a minute, most likely.” His head lolled against his shoulder. He couldn’t talk. He was being forced to sleep again. But he wasn’t quite gone yet._

_“Make sure surgery prep is done before he wakes up. We upped the dose significantly, so he should be asleep long enough to clear out his stomach. We’ll let his stomach empty, then put him under again for surgery. He won’t remember the in-between. He’s going to wake up in a recovery room and be told he went through the procedure right after he went to sleep.”_

_“Alright.”_

_And then it was black._

“So they did lie to me, then,” he mumbled. “Everything was a lie, wasn’t it?” He had been a kid. But he had been treated like a lab rat. 

A hard knock at his door interrupted the anger building inside him, causing it to simmer in silence. “Yeah?” 

“It’s Fuyuhiko. Open your fuckin’ door.” 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He was tired, he realized. He was so tired. But dreams only meant more memories. And avoiding Fuyuhiko by going to bed seemed like a bad idea on every possible level. 

Rubbing his eyes, he unlocked and opened the door.

“Kamukura. So I’m guessing Makoto called you.”

He nodded. “It’s Hajime, but yeah.” 

He sighed in relief. “Good, you’re back.” 

He took a fistful of Hajime’s shirt and pulled him down to eye level. “We’re going to have a chat, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay yo what was IN that chicken anyway hope you enjoyed!! y’all have been leaving such nice comments. As for everyone commenting on Izuru and Hajime as a system, it’s reassuring to see that y'all think I’ve been doing a good job. I’ve put legitimate research onto it before depicting it, and it is of utmost importance to me that I show DID accurately and respectfully. 
> 
> Thanks for all your love, and see you tomorrow! - <3 fen


	8. Supply Closet Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime explains a few things on the floor of a supply closet.

They walked down the hall in sullen silence, each stewing in his own thoughts.

Surprisingly, it was Fuyuhiko who broke the silence. “Why did you hide him from us?”

Hajime sighed, staring straight ahead. He didn’t know where they were going. “I didn’t mean to. I told Sonia last night. And I was going to say something this morning, but…”

The journal. “…things happened.”

“Yeah? Like what?” His voice softened, and he pulled them off into a side room and turned on the light. It was a supply closet, just big enough for the two of them to sit down. “It’s private in here.”

Hajime followed his lead and sat. He swallowed hard and went to tug at his tie but found that it wasn’t there. “What is this about?” 

“Did Makoto tell you what we said?”

“Just that you didn’t think I was doing well,” he said, leaning back into a shelf. Dust fell from old bottles and coated his shoulders. Outwardly he was trying to keep his calm, but he was screaming. He could feel Izuru beginning to stir. 

_I have to calm down. I have to calm down or Izuru will come back again._

“Sonia told him about those journals. If even Souda can figure out that those are the reason why you’ve acting like this,” he said, pausing. “then why are you reading them?”

Hajime tucked his knees to his chest, staring up at the bare lightbulb. The light stung his eyes. “I can’t remember anything. My life is coming back to me, but right now I’m only remembering things from the project. I read my journal, and everything felt familiar. I definitely wrote all that. But…”

Fuyuhiko shifted closer. “But what, Hinata?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to be…inappropriate, or say the wrong thing, but…you guys have your own things to deal with. All of you did terrible things. But at least you remember them. I have absolutely nothing. It wasn’t me all that time. And I can’t just walk around, live with you guys…save everyone, not knowing what he did and what kind of relationships he had with you.”

“It’s hurting you to find out.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “Yeah. It is. But I have to know. Izuru knows, but we don’t share memories unless one of us dreams of something that happened to us. This morning…I found out what happened to Chiaki.” 

Fuyuhiko winced. “Fuck, okay. I get it now.”

“She was probably my only friend at Hope’s Peak,” he mumbled, his heart heavy. “I barely remember anyone else. But I remember her.”

Fuyuhiko sighed. “I don’t do good with this kind of “talk about your feelings” shit. But you need to tell someone what you read. And…” he crossed his arms and looked away. “It might as well be me. We all talked, and we’re all gonna help you out how we can. You’ve been leading and taking care of us since the Neo World Program. It’s about damn time we returned the favor.”

He shook his head, tightly gripping at the material of his jeans. “I don’t want to be coddled. You all have your own things to deal with.” 

“We’re not _coddling_ you, dumbass,” he said, remaining eye flaring. “You need help to get better, just like the rest of us. If you hide whatever shit you’re going through, you’re gonna crack.” 

He sighed, closing his eyes. It seemed he had a confession to make. “I’m afraid...of telling you things.”

“Why?” 

He shrugged. The room was dry and warm, and judging from the thickness of the cement walls, mostly soundproof. “It’s hard to talk about.”

“ _Everything_ about this is hard to talk about,” Fuyuhiko snapped, startling Hajime. “You think I like telling everyone else the shit I did? Fuck no. You think Sonia wants to talk about what she did to Novoselic? _Fuck_ no. We all got enough blood on our hands to stain a glacier red. But we have to talk about our shit, or it can never get better. So spit it out. Why are you so afraid of being taken care of?”

Fuyuhiko was right. Nothing would change if everyone held everything in. But it still took him a full minute before he talked again.

“When I signed up for the project, I was essentially tricked into signing away my right to making choices. They hid it under pages and pages of medical and legal jargon that there was no possible way a seventeen year old could understand. My parents didn’t even sign off on it. They never even _saw_ the papers. But I did. I signed them,” he said, frustration knotting up in his throat, his anger rising back up. He smashed it back down. “and my body wasn’t my own anymore.” 

He wiped at his eyes. “I had no say in absolutely anything. I slept when they said to, I ate when they said to. If I didn’t want to sleep, they drugged my food. If I wasn’t hungry, I was held down and force-fed. Even...even if I _was_ compliant, my food was drugged. I bet it was from day one.”

“That’s fucked,” Fuyuhiko said. “But I promise you. Nobody’s going to do anything like that to you.”

“That’s not all.”

“What?” There was real dread in his eyes. Hajime knew that his fear was showing on his face.

“Everything is still fuzzy. But I know they stopped telling what surgeries would come and when. I’d do go to sleep in my bed and wake up on an operating table. If I told them something hurt, or I questioned them, they sedated me. I’m sure I was asleep for more than half of the project.”

He was shaking.

“And when I wasn’t sleeping, I was being manhandled. The doctors always had their hands on me, I was always hooked up to something, and hell,” he rambled, words pouring out like syrup. “I don’t know if I remember a time when I wasn’t off an IV line for more than a day. And they took my phone and my clothes, and I couldn’t call my mom. I was stuck in a hospital gown for the whole damn thing and half the time I’d wake up and it would’ve been changed for me. It was like…it was like I wasn’t even human.”

He took a deep breath, shuddering. “Sorry. I know it’s a lot.” 

Fuyuhiko shook his head. “I’m going to listen to you until you’re done talking, okay?” He placed a steadying hand on Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime could hear Izuru again. _What are you doing? What is going on? You are in distress._

“Go away,” he mumbled, pulling his knees tighter to himself, the words escaping him like poison honey. If he said them, they had more power. “Go away, Izuru.” He didn’t care that Fuyuhiko could hear him. _Go away._

_I am not leaving you until you answer me._

_I’m telling Fuyuhiko what happened._

__

_I can take over if needed—_

“No!” he snapped. _No. I can do this. I went through the project. I have to say what happened._

He could feel Izuru’s version of worry flood him. _Please let me front tonight. So you can rest._

_Fine! Fine. Just…not right now._ Izuru retreated somewhat but kept himself close to the front, enough so that if he had to he could quickly switch. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbled to Fuyuhiko, who was staring at him with a wide eye. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re fucking not.” He shook his head. “But...I think I get it now. They took your freedom from you. Every time you asked for help you got punished. And now that’s why you don’t want to ask for help now, right?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Basically that, yeah.” 

“And since you don’t remember what happened while Kamu—“

Hajime cut him off. “Don’t say his name. He’ll front again.”

He stopped and rephrased his words. “And since you don’t remember...that part of your life, you’re trying to figure it out. And the stuff in there is just as hard to read. Is that it?”

He nodded mutely. He had a feeling that the entires were not going to get any nicer. 

Fuyuhiko stood and offered him a hand. He clapped a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “I’m gonna warn you now, Hinata. He was her favorite. She did a lot of things to him to break him, but I’m guessing you knew that already. And she fucked up Komaeda too. We all knew that you two—them—had something going on. And she didn’t like it.” His eye shone brightly. “I know you care about Komaeda a lot too. Just…be careful, and don’t be a dumbass and push yourself too far.”

As Fuyuhiko opened the door and they left, he turned and looked up at Hajime again. “Makoto’s bringing a doctor. They’re going to be able to tell that you haven’t ate or slept enough. Be ready for that. If you want someone in there with you, just ask. None of us would say no.”

“Are you going to tell them what I said?” Hajime wrung his hands, wishing he had his tie to fiddle with. It was a nervous habit, and it would be a bit of an understatement to just call him nervous right now.

“I was going to tell them that the fuckheads in the project treated you like an object and you’re...apprehensive to ask for help now because of it. Is that okay?” He sighed, putting a hand on his hip and staring at his shoes. “I don’t want to tell them your story for you. What you went through would fuck anyone up for good. It’s not my place to tell everyone.”

“That’s...that’s fine. Thank you.” His gaze wandered, finding something to focus on. “The worst part is I signed up for it. I don’t remember much...but...I do remember why. And the days right before. I...I wasn’t going to go through with it. Chiaki and Miss Yukizome, without even knowing...they talked me out of it. Then...” he gulped. “The situation with your sister and Sato happened.”

Fuyuhiko balled his fists so hard his knuckles went white. 

“I wanted to talk to Mahiru about it, because I...I’m pretty sure I was one of the last people to talk to Natsumi. It’s still fuzzy, but something happened between her and Sato, and I went to check on her. Then the next morning, I think, she...” he trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

His teeth were gritted. “It’s alright. You can keep going.” 

“Oh...okay,” he said, shame burning him. Why would he bring up Fuyuhiko’s dead sister in a talk about _himself?_ “Uh, anyway...I saw Mahiru and Sato talking about it. When I approached Sato, she wouldn’t tell me anything.” She had said some nasty things about Natsumi, but Hajime thought it would be unwise to leave that detail in. “So I tried to get on the main course campus, to ask Mahiru what happened.”

“But you were Reserve. You weren’t allowed on our campus.”

If he thought about it hard enough, he could remember the face of the security head who had spat on him, twisted into a sneer. “Yeah. I tried to explain why, but they wouldn’t let me through. The head of security showed up, and when I asked for the truth, he said some...nasty things.

“I threw the first punch, but he had me on the ground in seconds. He stepped on me. He...he spat on me.” His own fists were balled, and he was shaking again, but this time it was out of anger. “He said all these things to me, just because I was normal. He called me a _dog,_ Fuyuhiko.” 

He sighed, the breath heavy with regret. “I agreed to the project an hour after that. They took me that night.” 

There was a loaded silence between them. Eventually Fuyuhiko turned around began to walk away.

“Come on. We’re going outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This was initially a much longer chapter, but I’ve split it into two parts to keep the lengths of my chapters consistent. As always, I love all of you! 
> 
> -fen <3


	9. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Izuru’s turn to dream and remember things that have come before.

Before long they sat on the roof. The wind whipped around, catching at Fuyuhiko’s tie and Hajime’s shirt. 

“What are we doing out here?” 

Fuyuhiko closed his remaining eye. “Getting some damn peace and quiet.” 

It was a solid thirty minutes before he spoke again. “You look exhausted, Hinata.”

“I can’t sleep. The dreams are terrible.” Not to mention that they weren’t even dreams—they were memories. Maybe whatever those scientists did to his brain made it impossible for him to dream now, made him only remember when he slept.

“Sonia gave you something to sleep, right?” 

“Yeah.” He laid down on his back, crossing his arms under his head. The sky was beautiful. “Yeah, she did. But that was too close to…you know. I don’t know if I can take them again. Even taking just one was difficult.”

“So what’re you gonna do, then? Keep pushing yourself until you drop?”

“I don’t know. I just want to make sure everyone wakes up.” 

Fuyuhiko slammed a fist onto the roof, the sudden movement startling Hajime. “How’re we supposed to wake them up when you’re two seconds away from collapsing, Hinata?!” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m trying my best. You know I am.”

Fuyuhiko thought in silence. “I know. We all owe you our lives, literally. But…you’re worrying us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Fuyuhiko sighed, and got up. “I’m gonna leave you alone now. But we care about you. We want you to take care of yourself.”

He sat up, watching Fuyuhiko go. “I know you do. I know you do.”

Everyone cared about him. He knew they did. They had survived so much together. It was like they were a little family. With everyone else, it would be a big family. Hajime never had any sisters or brothers, but he surely had found some with these people. He didn’t want to disappoint them. He wanted to do better.

As soon as Fuyuhiko was inside, Izuru spoke again.

_Before I front, we need to speak, Hajime._

_I know._ Hajime flopped back down on the ground, letting the sun warm his face.

_I did not think I would be back so soon._

_Me neither. I don’t think I’m doing very well, Izuru._

_You should stop reading the journals for now. They are hurting you. That was not my intention when I told you to read mine._

_You knew it would hurt me when I opened it. Don’t lie._

_I did not expect that they would have such a profound effect on you. Take a break from them. Let your memories come naturally._

_But I have to know what happened to you. What you and Komaeda were doing. I can’t face him without that._

_You love him too, then. I suspected as such._

Hajime, despite himself, blushed. _Love is a strong word. I don’t think I’ve known him long enough to love him._

_I did. We stayed together for years. He taught me how to love, I think. He taught me how to feel many things._ So there were going to be _several_ things for Hajime to sort out with Ko. 

What are you going to do when he’s awake?

_We will see when he wakes up, Hajime. Ultimately that decision rests on him and you. Are you ready to switch?_

_Just remember that Makoto is coming tomorrow._

_You will be back by then._

He could feel the headache coming back, the fogginess settling over his head. Their thoughts began to bleed together. _Goodbye. See you soon._  
——

Izuru was hit with a wave of utter exhaustion as soon as he came to. _Is this really how he feels? How he lives?_

He knew Hajime couldn’t sleep. That yesterday had been his first time sleeping in two days. Izuru quickly decided his first order of business was eating, then going to bed. It may have only been late afternoon, but their body was exhausted.

He was too tired to do anything more than eat an apple. 

Once he made it to their room, he had barely removed his shoes and shirt before he collapsed into the bed, his body crying out in thanks as it crashed onto the sheets. He was asleep before he could even get under the covers.

The clock read 6:22 pm.

_He woke up in an abandoned apartment in Towa, Nagito curled up next to him. The man was warm, and he fit perfectly against Izuru. Every dip and curve of their bodies seemed to have a matching part on the other. Izuru sat up, looking outside the window._

_It was still dark._

_“Nngh…Izuru?” The moonlight filtered in in shafts, painting his hair silver._

_“Go back to sleep.”_

_But he sat up instead, rubbing at the raw skin on his throat. “Not until you do.” The collar was hurting him again. It always did, the metal rubbing raw against his bare skin. It left bruises and chafed him on good days. On bad days he would be bleeding by the day’s end. Izuru asked him why he kept it on, why he had been entrusted with the key, knowing that they could be separated for days due to Junko’s fledgling, utterly homicidal prodigies. He had smiled. “I trust you to not lose it.”_

_Nagito’s brood. For all their monstrosities, he really did love them as his own. Even after every indignity and casual cruelty—because there was nobody crueler than a child, truly—he still wanted to raise them well. He was all they had as any sort of parental figure. That accursed bear certainly didn’t count._

_He stood up, retrieving ointment from the nearby dresser. “Let me see your neck, Nagito.”_

_He complied, lifting up his hair. Izuru would have to trim it soon, it was getting long again._

_“You don’t have to do this for me.”_

_Izuru quietly began to rub it in anyway. “You are hurting.” He did not like when Nagito was hurt or sick. He often tried to hide it, instead fussing over Izuru. “You take care of me. Let me take care of you as well.”_

_As soon as he finished, he kissed Nagito softly, smoothing back his hair. “Go to sleep.”_

_He shook his head, carding slender fingers through Izuru’s hair. If Nagito didn’t love it as much as he did, Izuru would probably have cut it off by now. While from an objective perspective he supposed it was pretty, it got in the way. But Nagito seemingly adored it, spending literal hours taking care of it for him sometimes. Izuru didn’t remember the last time he had washed his own hair. But because he loved it so, Izuru now took some strange version of pride in it. He did not like many things about himself. But he liked this._

_“Turn around for me, please?” Nagito asked, a bit nervous. “But only if you’re comfortable with me touching you, of course--”_

_“It is alright. You are allowed to touch me. You always are.” He had earned that right. And he would never admit it, but Izuru longed for his touch when he was away, wanting the press of his slim, pale fingers on his skin, never hard enough to bruise._

_Nagito took a brush from the nightstand and began his work, carefully working out knots without pulling too hard. Everything he did was kind and gentle._

_“I’m not good enough for you,” he mumbled. “You are too kind to me. I...do not deserve the way you treat me.”_

_Izuru shook his head, staring at the mirror propped on the dresser. His eyes nearly glowed in the dark. With his vision he could see the red of his eyes. Nagito kept brushing, Izuru’s hair tickling his bare back. According to Nagito, there was a scar along the length of his spine. He traced up it with a finger, causing Izuru to shudder involuntarily. A breathy laugh escaped Nagito. “So...I can get a reaction out of you after all, hm?”_

_“Don’t tease,” he mumbled, but didn’t move._

_He chuckled. “I would never tease you, Izuru.”_

_“Liar.”_

_He gathered and sectioned off Izuru’s hair into two parts, beginning to braid one side. “Truly, your words wound me.” He took a breath and pressed a small kiss to the back of Izuru’s neck. He seized up at the contact, a jolt running down his spine. He craved more touches, more little gestures of intimacy. But he would never outwardly ask—especially since Nagito seemed to know his cues now._

_His work was quick and efficient, his hands deft and intricate, not letting a single hair fall out of place. “Tell me, Izuru. What made you stay with me? Or let me stay with you, all that time ago?”_

_The room was cold. He should put his shirt back on. But that would mean getting up, interrupting Nagito’s work. “You interested me.”_

_“But why?” It seemed his partner had found ribbon the last time they went looking for food and supplies. He carefully began to weave it into Izuru’s hair. “I’m nothing. Worthless garbage, you know.”_

_“You are far from worthless,” Izuru said softly, looking down. His pants were too small, but they were the only thing he could find to sleep in aside from his suit. The waistband left red marks on his stomach. “You have value to me.” More value than he’d ever said. Junko was dead. This was an indisputable fact. The corpse he had stared down and the red nails on Nagito’s left hand were proof of that. But the urge to protect him remained. If Junko had truly known that Izuru had chosen him, her wrath would have been something to behold._

_But even now that she was gone…  
“I’ve always…wanted…to keep you safe.” Wanted. Want. Izuru did not want many things. He barely knew how to want. But he was certain that it was the right word. _

_Nagito’s hands stilled for a nigh-imperceptible moment before he resumed braiding. He tied off the first side and began to brush out the other, smoothing invisible tangles. For only having one working hand, he was incredibly dexterous._

_“Nobody has ever cared for me as you do, Izuru,” he mumbled. “I confess…I do not understand it. But…” The brush stilled, then fell from his hair to the bed. The frame creaked as Nagito leaned forward, pulling Izuru back into a close hug, burying his head in Izuru’s hair._

_Izuru decided that his hair was his favorite part about himself._

_“I am grateful for it. Even if I am worthless trash, you have allowed me to stay by your side. You have treated me as an equal.” He took a heavy breath. “I love you, Izuru Kamukura.”_

_Before Izuru could say anything back, the world around him shifted and changed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally gave poor Izuru a break in this chapter! He deserves it.  
> Anyway, the next chapter is perhaps one my favorite things I’ve ever written. See you then, darlings! Remember to drink some water and wash your face!
> 
> -fen <3


	10. Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru did have something important to him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be real i pissed MYSELF off writing this one so uh have fun happy 4/20 be responsible  
> — fen <3

_He was now fully dressed, his hair down. Instead of a bed, he was sat in a metal chair. A comb (not a brush) was being run through it, but these hands were foreign. He did not like them. He wanted them away from him. Everything in him whispered that this was not to end well._

_He tried to jerk away from the hand steadying itself on his shoulder, but found his hands restrained, his wrists locked to the arms of his chair. The restraints were an inch thick._

_“Sorry,” the offending person said apologetically. “But I’ve gotta do this.” Izuru flicked his eyes up to the mirror, surveying his newest opponent. Makoto Naegi, proclaimed hope of the world, stared back, comb in hand._

_There was a pair of scissors next to him._

_They were going to cut his hair._

_He had already been separated from Nagito, his few worldly possessions snatched from him and (he was sure) his private journal laid bare to a group of cold Future Foundation psychologists. He wasn’t even in his suit anymore. They’d shoved him into a short-sleeved button-down, a green tie with an emblem he didn’t recognize. And now they were cutting his hair._

_“Why?” It was the first thing he had ever said to Naegi._

_He was short. Izuru certainly wasn’t tall, but if he was allowed to stand he towered over Naegi. The man who had defeated Enoshima barely reached his chin._

_“Why am I cutting it? Well…we’ve noticed that maintenance is…difficult for you to keep up alone.”_

_Izuru stiffened slightly. So there were cameras in the bathrooms, then. Makoto didn’t notice the shift, but the woman in the corner of the room did. Kyoko Kirigiri. She had kept her distance from Izuru. Most everyone did. From his initial capture to being taken (again) by Naegi and his companions to this strange island, he had only been spoken to by men named Munakata and Sakukura, then Naegi, and Nagito on the way here. If the talk with Munakata and Sakukura could even be called a talk._

_Sakukura seemed to recognize him. Either way, Izuru had no idea who he was. But when his noncompliance, his utter apathy, had been apparently too infuriating, he had to be pulled out of the room sporting a bloody mouth and a broken rib, his own tie being used to secure his wrists and keep him an easy target as he was beaten viciously._

_Not long after, he had been shoved onto the ship to this island. His rib still ached if he breathed too heavily._

_Naegi, however, treated him the same as he treated everyone else. With utter genuine kindness and respect. He carefully ran the comb through Izuru’s hair, doing his best to not touch him. Before long, he put it down and picked up the scissors. They shone, threateningly sharp under the fluorescent lights._

_“I know you don’t want it cut. So I won’t do anything too crazy, okay? Just enough to make it manageable.”_

_“Leave my hair alone.” His voice was firm._

_Naegi sighed, and cast a look to Kirigiri. Her expression was almost as blank as Izuru’s, but not because she was bored. She was just an expert at hiding what she felt. As she stood up, walking over, Izuru tested the restraints. They were surprisingly strong._

_Her voice was neutral, slightly cold. “They were specially made to hold you, Kamukura.” She wore gloves. He marked this potential weakness, filing it away for later. “You won’t get out of here so easily.”_

_Red eyes met lilac. Both sides were equally cold. But Izuru won the staring contest. She sighed and looked at Naegi. “It has to be done. There’s too much of it for us to comfortably put him in. It has be waist length at the longest. But I’d suggest making it shorter.”_

_Izuru began to actively fight against the restraints. But once again, as it often went, the time he legitimately needed to escape was when he was well and truly trapped. Completely at the mercy of a pair of scissors._

_Nagito would surely appreciate the irony. “Matching tales,” he’d say with his little laugh._

_Naegi sighed, shaking his head. He thought he saw guilt in the other man’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Izuru.” He took the pair of scissors and sectioned off the first part of his hair._

_As soon as the first cut was made, Izuru yanked with enough force to break through a wall._

_The restraints held fast._

_“If you don’t hold still, I’ll cut you--”_

_Izuru stilled, silently contemplating his apparent defeat. Something unfamiliar and ugly was growing in his gut, making him grip the arms of the chair so hard he left finger-sized dents._

_The sounds of snipping soon filled the room. Lengths of dark hair fell to the floor, a familiar weight Izuru no longer even noticed growing lighter and lighter. He gritted his teeth._

_Nagito had taught him what anger was. “When something is wrong, or when someone treats you wrong, sometimes you get angry. Your heart beats faster. You want to say things to hurt the other person, even if you don’t mean them. You might even want to hit them. But, of course, Kamukura is too wonderful to strike someone out of anger!”_

_He wasn’t so sure. He looked down, to the sheer length of hair curled on the floor, soon to be swept away and discarded. This was anger, then. His fists were balled. His body, readying itself for a fight. Izuru knew even less of forgiveness than anger. But he knew that he would not forgive Naegi anytime soon for this, nor would he forgive Kirigiri._

_Naegi stilled the scissors. “I know you don’t want this. I’m sorry. But even if we braided it back, it’s too much. And you can’t take care of it by yourself.”_

_Yes, he could. There weren’t many things he couldn’t do. He just wasn’t given enough time to properly care for himself. Even with the cosmetology talent, maintaining his hair without help could take hours._

_Izuru did not have hours to dedicate to his hair when in an empty cell. “You have no say over my body.”_

_Makoto sighed and went back to snipping, evening out the cut. “I’m cutting as little off as possible.”_

_“You cut off almost three feet.” Thirty-four inches, to be exact. Thirty-four inches he and Nagito had cared for together for years. Thirty-four inches Junko had yanked on whenever she wanted attention._

_He ran his hand through his own hair, brown and messy. It covered his ears and stuck up at odd angles. It could be considered long, if Izuru wasn’t in the room. “I’m really trying to keep as much of it as possible. The plan was to cut it to your original length—“_

_“My hair had always been that long.” This conversation was irritating. And boring. Fighting for this simple right to keep his own hair when he knew it was almost certain he would fail was…exhausting. He cast another look down. His hair now would fall just below his hips. He was trembling, furiously biting down on the inside of his cheek. The one thing he had that was uniquely, completely his was being shorn off for no other reason than they didn’t think he could care for it. And, apparently, that it wouldn’t fit in their precious little pod. He knew what was coming. His hearing was perfect, after all._

_It’s easy to eavesdrop when you don’t speak._

_Naegi shook his head. “The length before the project, that is. It used to be shorter than mine, if you can believe it.” He chuckled uncomfortably, then went back to snipping. “I’m only taking off a few more inches, don’t worry.”_

_How they knew anything about him from before the project when even he didn’t know anything was a mystery. But he could get information later. Right now, he just wanted to keep the hair he had left._

_“Do not cut any further.” In the mirror, he could see Naegi cast a questioning glance to Kirigiri. She shook her head. If he faltered, it was likely she would take over—and she would cut it far shorter than he would._

_“It has to be done. You said it yourself.”_

_So there was no way out of this, then. He would have to beg. It was his only option left._

_“Please.”_

_Naegi’s eyes softened. But Kirigiri’s steeled. She was interesting. More interesting than Naegi and his utterly predictable pity. But he needed that pity right now. “Makoto,” she said firmly._

_He frowned, sighed through his nose, and the scissors returned. Izuru squeezed his eyes shut as the snipping resumed. It felt like they were cutting away at the little identity he had made for himself._

_He said it one more time. One more desperate, pathetic time. If he could have gotten on his knees to plead, he would have. He would have debased himself in any way, just to keep his hair. “Please.”_

_The cutting didn’t stop._

_Perhaps he was less than human after all._

_It turned out a few more inches meant another full foot of hair was cut off. When Naegi was done, he combed it out again, every brush against his scalp making Izuru feel sick. Perhaps unwisely, he released Izuru’s restraints when he was finished. “See? It's not so bad, right?”_

_As he stood, he looked in the mirror again. His hair fell to the center of his ribcage. He looked down at the carnage around him. The linoleum tiles were completely covered by hair._

_He was trembling._

_No more words were said as he was taken back to his cell._

_He didn’t speak for the next three days. Not when Naegi came to him, begging for him to eat or sleep. Not after he slipped the USB drive into the computer. Not when he was shoved into the pod. Not when the mask was lowered over his face._

_He stayed silent through it all._

When Izuru woke up, his eyes were wet.

The clock read 10:32 am.

Hajime was very close. His voice was clear, and so was his worry. _Izuru…I didn’t know how much your hair meant to you._

He didn’t want to think about it. _Do not feel bad about cutting your hair, Hajime. I gave you permission. You may keep it short. You feeling comfortable in your own skin is more important than my preference._

Hajime had asked him before he had cut it down to his length, despite having hair that long making him panicky and deeply uncomfortable. He wanted to look like _himself_ , not Izuru. And having been shoved so far down for so long, he was obviously desperate to reestablish his identity. Hajime had told him, not long after they had woken up and settled down, that he had trouble recognizing himself in the mirror. It wasn’t him staring back, he said.

Izuru knew well who he was, and what he was. He had taken deep pride in his hair, but he could easily give it up if it meant Hajime’s recovery. Izuru had a lot of making up to do to Hajime—while it wasn’t his fault that he was created, it was his fault that he put Hajime though hell and back just to satisfy his own curiosity. Certainly, he had many apologies to give and many atonements to make to everyone. But Hajime deserved far more than everyone else. Even if atonement was boring, even if forgiveness was the dullest concept since watching paint dry, he would work for it anyway. 

_Nagito liked it too, didn’t he?_

_He loved it. He spent hours maintaining it for me. The first time I asked him for help, I fell asleep when he washed my hair._

_Really?_

_Yes._

He could sense something like guilt coming from Hajime. Guilt, and a little plan forming in his thoughts. If he concentrated, he could make out that Hajime was going to talk to Naegi about what had happened, and there was nothing on this Earth that would stop him. 

_You know Makoto is coming today. He could be here now. Are you going to talk to him or me?_

Izuru stood straight up. It was a bit of an understatement to say he held a grudge against the man. _You are dealing with him. Please only call for me if you absolutely need me._

He did not want to be anywhere near Naegi. The haircut had really, truly, hurt him deep. Hurt him like nothing else had ever been able to, and he doubted nothing would ever hurt him like that again. It was like Junko had always purred to him. _It's the little things that hurt most, babydoll._

When the fog descended over his head and their thoughts began to run together, it almost felt routine.

\-------

Hajime shook his head. There was a lot to unpack in those dreams—in those memories, but he didn’t have the time. He’d deal with them later. Slipping into his shirt and tie, he rubbed at his face. The mirror still showed someone who was nearly a stranger, but the dark circles had faded some, at least. 

Makoto would be here today. With a doctor. Somehow, he didn’t feel like he was going to pass the checkup. But whether he was deemed healthy or not, he was going to start work on waking his friends up tomorrow. That would be his break from the journals. That dream had been enough to know what it had been like with Nagito…so the journals could wait until everyone else was awake.

_I wonder if he’d kiss me like that._

Standing straight up, he shoved the thought out of his head. _Keep it together, Hajime!_

“Might as well eat something before he gets here,” he groused to himself. 

Everyone ate together quietly in the kitchen, relieved to see Hajime back, welcoming him back warmly. Nobody pressed him about the note. Nobody pressed him about much of anything. Fuyuhiko had talked to them, then.

He broke the silence a bit uncomfortably. “Did he…say when he was coming to any of you? I’ve…kind of been asleep.”

Sonia let out an audible sigh of relief, and Akane clapped him on the back, quickly grabbing him into a hug (more like a headlock). “So ya finally went to bed, huh?” 

He nodded a bit guiltily, trying to pull away before he was noogied to death. “Y-yeah.” _Well, Izuru went to bed. I was just along for the ride._

He was going to have a talk with Makoto about the haircut. Even now, something small and hot and furious burnt deep in him about that. Izuru had been legitimately hurt—wounded in a way that Hajime didn’t even know it was possible for him to be hurt. And while Hajime wasn’t even quite sure if he even liked Izuru yet, they were headmates. Hajime would protect Izuru to his dying breath. After all, even if the killing game had been his work, he had been just as manipulated and used as Hajime himself. He had done bad things, terrible things. But so had everyone at this table. He promised himself that he would help everyone, and that included Izuru Kamukura.

“Now all we need you to do is eat good!” She was boisterous and loud, truly in peak form. “You’ll always be skinny as a twig if all you’re eatin’ is some fruit every now and then!” 

He gestured to his breakfast. (Kazuichi had made pancakes. Somehow (Hajime excluded, of course), he was by far the best cook out of all of them.) “I’m working on it, don’t worry.”

“Good! That’s good!” Her grin was wide, toothy, and, utterly infectious. She smashed him in yet another hug, this time his head getting buried in her chest. He triple-tapped to admit defeat before he choked. He could have pulled her off, but he didn’t have the same control over his strength as Izuru, and he didn’t want to test out his (His? Izuru’s? Their?) surgery talents quite yet. Actually, he hoped he never had to test them. 

But with Nekomaru’s heart problems, Komaeda’s cancer alongside his arm from Junko, and Mikan’s...organ...from her...it would seem he would have to put his medical talents to the test. And, in Ko’s case, create a replacement. But he would worry about that once they were awake. First, well, he had to...wake them up.

“Makoto called me,” Sonia said, dabbing at her mouth delicately with a napkin. “He should be here in about an hour. Once we are finished, we should make our way to the docks so we can properly greet him.” Hajime and the others nodded, finishing up quickly and going back to take care of quick business (brushing their teeth.) before they left. 

It was short walk to the docks, but they left early. It was a warm day, the dew already melted off the leaves and the sand already hot under their feet. They could see the boat in the distance before long. Something squirmed in Hajime’s gut. He liked Makoto and was immensely grateful for what he had done for all of them, but that flash of rage from Izuru kept ricocheting about in his head. Makoto hadn’t meant to hurt him. He really hadn’t. But he had, and Hajime would at the very least get an apology for Izuru by the day’s end. 

But when the boat docked and he came off, he couldn’t keep a relieved smile off his face. But it faded as soon as he saw the doctor. He was just a regular doctor, from what he could tell. But when Hajime looked at doctors, all he could see was a syringe filled with transparent, pale yellow liquid. Almost instinctively, he put a hand over his neck. There was a little scar where he had routinely been injected, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. But he covered it up, nonetheless. _Just in case_ , he told himself. 

Makoto smiled and waved, putting his bags down. “Sorry to come on such short notice, guys. I hope I’m not imposing.” 

“What’s there to impose on?” Kazuichi asked, giving the short man a quick hug. “Welcome back, dude.” 

The doctor was middle aged. His hairline was receding, but otherwise he seemed to be in good health. “This is Doctor Ito,” Makoto said, bringing him over. “He’s going to be checking on you guys from now on.”

Hajime could barely bring himself to shake the man’s hand, goosebumps running up and down his arms, his palms sweating. “Hello. Welcome.” It sounded forced and awkward, and that’s because it was. Someone placed a steadying hand on his back, giving him a different touch to focus on. Probably Sonia, based on the size and firmness of the touch. 

“Shall we go in?” Sonia asked, instantly transitioning herself into what they all called Princess Mode: her already perfect posture straightened, and her voice carried more warmth and richness, but stayed utterly resolute. She was the very picture of a gracious hostess, and Hajime was very glad she was there to speak for them. 

Everyone caught up as they walked inside, but Hajime couldn’t focus on it. An utterly familiar fear and sense of defeat had begun to settle over him. He shook his head and dug his nails into his palm. _Nobody’s going to hurt me. Nobody’s going to hurt me._

As the doctor set up in a side room, Hajime gulped, steeled his courage, and walked over to Makoto. “Can we talk about a few things? In private?” 

Makoto looked up, confused. “Sure. What's up?” Hajime led him away, to the very same supply closet he had been in with Fuyuhiko yesterday.

Once they were inside, Hajime made sure that he was fully grounded before he started to talk. “We have a few things to...discuss.”

Makoto nodded apprehensively. “And why in a supply closet...?” 

Hajime huffed a breath and almost guiltily ran a hand through his own hair. Thank God he had asked Izuru before he cut it. (Makoto had brought him the dye. He hoped this talk went well, because he had so much to be thankful for from him.) He silently thanked whatever god was out there that Izuru had tucked himself deep into the headspace for this talk. He couldn’t even sense the other’s thoughts.

“I need to talk to you about what you did to Izuru.”


	11. Doctor, I Can’t Tell if I’m Not Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visit with the doctor goes...about as well as expected.

Makoto went still as death, going white as a sheet. 

Much like before, Hajime sat down on the floor. This was going to be tricky. He wasn’t necessarily angry at the other man, but and he had reason to do what he did, but he had hurt Izuru, and hurt him bad. He somehow had to balance the two conflicting parts of the situation without alienating Makoto or letting him off the hook entirely.

“Do you mean when I cut his hair?” His voice was a little halting. Following Hajime’s lead, he sat down next to him.

“Yeah. I do.” He didn’t want to make this a long conversation, and he said as much. “I don’t want to grill you on it or anything. But you hurt him. A lot. And he refuses to be around you because of it—at least for the time being.” 

Makoto sighed and leaned back into the shelves, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “I regretted it from the moment I made the first cut, you know?” His voice was soft. “Looking back on it, he was begging me to stop, wasn’t he?”

“He was. I…” he trailed off, thinking long and hard of what he knew of Izuru. “I don’t think he’s ever said please _except_ to beg.” 

And he had said it _twice_. “He’s angry at you. He’s holding holding a frankly impressive grudge.”

Makoto rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting Hajime’s eyes. “I’ve wanted to apologize for a while. I tried before the program, but…” he trailed off. “I don’t think he even heard me when I spoke.”

The lightbulb hummed as they sat together, quietly stewing in their own thoughts.

“Do…you know how I knew it was you who woke up?” Makoto said after a while. He grinned a bit, but there was no mirth in it. “Izuru had no life in his eyes. When he looked at you, he looked at you like you were a piece of meat. Or maybe a puzzle that was too easy to solve. But you…”

Their eyes met. His eyes, like always, were warm and welcoming. Full of optimism and determination. He deserved the title of Ultimate Hope far more than Hajime or Izuru ever would. “You’ve got some real fire in your eyes. I knew that from the minute I saw that picture of you in that journal.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Future Foundation never saw those pictures I gave you. Just so you know. I couldn’t take all the surgical pictures out, though.”

He gritted his teeth. If he could help it, that journal wouldn’t be opened for a long time. “I can’t even open that journal. Even reading my own was difficult. And…I’m trying to get through his. It’s not easy. I’m assuming you read them, so you know what I mean.”

Makoto shook his head. “I hid your journal when I found it, and I didn’t so much as open it. Not even Byakuya or Kyoko knew about it. And...I pulled rank to make sure Izuru’s was left alone, too. I...I don’t know how much you remember as him, but--”

“We don’t share memories. Unless he dreams and has a memory, like he dreamed about that haircut, I know nothing of what he went through aside from what I’ve read in his journal.” That was a blessing in disguise, he was realizing. Both of them had lived their own separate hell, and now they had to watch over each other, and learn what the other had gone through.

“Alright then. But when he was captured, his room was raided. All he had was what was in your box. If they were the only possessions he’s ever owned, I wouldn’t be surprised. I had hoped giving them back would...help me make it up to him. Just a little.” His guilt was plain as day on his face. It was clear that he had regretted the decision long before Hajime came to talk to him.

He sighed. “You owe him an apology, but I don’t know if he’s going to talk to you to give it anytime soon. I just...I needed to tell you for if or when he ever does speak to you.”

Makoto shifted a bit. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I know.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, fending off a forming headache. He felt his stomach beginning to turn. “There’s something else, too. It doesn’t have to do with him.”

“Yeah?” His voice was soft. 

Hajime’s hand shifted again, covering that same spot on his neck. Makoto’s eyes flicked up, seemingly taking note of the movement. “I’m afraid of doctors. Terrified, actually. I don’t know if I can go in there alone.” Even thinking about it made him antsy. His heart rate was up, and he could feel his palms beginning to sweat.

Makoto’s hand rested over his own, a warm, reassuring touch. “You won’t be alone. Promise. He should be done setting up for now, do you want to go in with me and…I don’t know…just get it over with?”

He bit the side of his cheek and nodded. If he put it off, his fear would only grow. And this crippling problem with doctors needed to be tackled head-on. They weren’t leaving him anytime soon, and he needed to reteach himself that they weren’t all monsters. “There aren’t going to be any needles, right?”

“No, not at all. It's just a physical exam. The worst he’ll do is ask you to take off your shirt. He has your records, so there are a few extra things he needs to check. But I’ve worked with him before, he’s professional. He won’t ask you to do anything out of the ordinary. Is that okay?”

That...sounded manageable. He had known there would have to be a few extra tests on him, simply due to how extensive the modifications on his body were. He sighed, loosening his tie. “Let’s just get this over with, then.”

They walked together to the doctor’s room, Makoto giving him a reassuring smile as Hajime sat down on the table. The doctor smiled warmly. “Hello, Mr. Hinata. I’m just going to do a simple checkup and make sure none of your physical...endowments have malfunctioned. Does that sound alright?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. He was sweating, his heart pounding. His eyes were trained on the exit. 

“Can I ask you to remove your shirt and tie so we can get started?” 

And just like that, with one little request, Hajime fell back into the routine of blind, terrified, trained compliance. With his face going blank, his body slowing down, and every thought eddying out of his head, he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, draping it over the back of the nearby chair. 

When Ito pressed the stethoscope against his chest, he didn’t even have to be asked to breathe in deep. Going through nearly every basic medical procedure was routine to him. Patterns he could easily fall back into and lose himself in. 

Heart rate: 102 beats per minute but dropping.  
Blood Pressure: high. 130 over 82.  
Hearing: Perfect, beyond what was normally attainable for humans.  
Eyesight: 20/5.

“Nervous, huh?” the doctor chuckled. “Don’t you worry. I’ll try to be quick.”

He nodded blankly, barely processing the words. His eyes were glazing over as he stared straight ahead. A familiar exhaustion was beginning to wash over him. Makoto gave a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder. “Hey, you’re doing great.” 

Was he? Was he really? He could barely hear what Makoto was saying, utterly drowned out by the doctor. “Stand up so I can check your height and weight...”

Height: 179 cm, 5’9.  
Weight: 67 kg, 147 lbs. 

Ito clicked his tongue. “You’re very close to being underweight. We’ll have to keep an eye on that.” 

_“He’s basically underweight. The nurse will have to make sure he eats.”_

__

“But I’m not--”

__

_“You don’t have a choice, Hinata.”_

His arms were limp at his sides, and he stared right past the doctor as he began the more thorough inspection. He was made to sit up completely straight as the implants in his spine were checked. As his flexibility was tested, he retreated deeper and deeper into himself. 

“Hey, Hajime?” Makoto asked nervously. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He couldn’t. All he could really hear was the distant beeping of a heart monitor. His body was working on its’ own, mindlessly following the doctor’s ministrations and tests. He was being good, being obedient, just like he had learned to be.

He was acting almost like he was drugged. His thoughts, if they came at all, were sluggish and flighty. Izuru wasn’t there to help him—he wouldn’t have been able to help him, really. They both would react the same if a doctor got too close. Well, perhaps Izuru would flinch or fight. But surely that would be worse. So tucking into himself was the best option, right? This was surely the best way to get through this. To avoid his own fear and pain. He didn’t really...feel like he was in his own body anymore. Every touch felt like it was passing through him, every word going through one ear and out the other, completely unheard.

He didn’t even notice that the doctor had stopped testing and was trying to get his attention. The hand waving in front of his face, Makoto grabbing him by the shoulders, none of it was really...real, was it? 

And that’s where he stopped remembering things. Neither he nor Izuru could account for what happened, but if he could remember, he would have seen them desperately call over Sonia to try and talk him down. And when that didn’t work, Akane being called in to help him (carry him) back to his room, a place with familiar surroundings, things he could focus and ground himself on. 

He would remember somewhat frantic call was placed to Future Foundation’s resident psychologist, asking how to talk someone down from being disassociated.

“Get someone he trusts try to carefully bring him back and talk him down. Don’t crowd him.” 

Sonia was called back in for another round, Makoto and the doctor leaving the room, everyone else staying close by the door but out of the room.

This part, he was starting to remember. Sonia settled herself in front of him, putting a careful hand on his shoulder. “Hajime. You are safe. You are on Jabberwock Island. You are sitting in your bedroom. Your friend, Sonia Nevermind, is here with you. I am here with you, and you are going to be okay.”

Over and over, she repeated these words, her voice firm and resolute, but full of love and concern.

It took her almost ten minutes to even get a response. “Huh...?”

She smiled in desperate relief. “Hajime? Can you hear me?” 

Could he? Yes. He nodded slowly. The world was starting to come back into focus around him, but it was like he was underwater. 

Honestly, he didn’t remember much of that afternoon. Walking into the doctor’s office, then being in his room, hugged close by Sonia as everyone carefully hung back. The rest of the day was spent with countless apologies from Makoto and the doctor, and surely other things he still wasn’t ready to focus on. Bringing himself fully out of the hazy swirl of his own head took him hours and lots of patient help from Sonia and eventually the others, but once he was grounded, he was issued a clean bill of (physical) health.

The doctor’s report read as such.

_Hinata is recovered physically, but is showing clear signs of trauma. Based on testimonies from his companions, he is also showing signs of having developed a dissociative disorder. Getting him in contact with a therapist seems to be the best course of action._

Everyone else was administered a physical and mental health exam.

The next day, work on reviving the remainder of the 77th class began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: first things first, a very important distinction between my fic and actual DID. DID is a condition exclusively developed in early childhood. It cannot really “developed” at a later age, and diagnosis can be very difficult to attain. Obviously, Hajime and Izuru’s separate existence is a bit of a bend on that. I apologize if I caused anyone to make a misconception, that is entirely my fault. Through all of this, I am striving for only accuracy and respect. Please tell me if and when I slip up so I can fix it. Thank you.  
> —  
> tbh I don’t really like this chapter, but it had to be finished!!! And Very Soon someone important will be coming into the story >:) >:) >:) 
> 
> i love u, wash ur face, take ur prescribed meds!!! -fen <3


	12. Learning Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working on waking up his classmates, he stops to talk to them for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi what is up!!!!!!! i am SUPER excited for this and the next set of chapters—aka the plot’s gonna get kicked more into gear and i’m !!!!!!! :D about it.
> 
> lots and lots of love to all of you!!
> 
> -fen <3

To call the next month a blur would be an understatement. Hajime threw everything he had into cracking the Neo World Program, barely stopping to eat or sleep. Utilizing talents he barely knew he had, doing things he didn’t understand but somehow knew intimately, he delved deep into the program. He worked and worked, racking every corner of his surgically enhanced brain to find a way to bring them back.

The others helped where they could. Souda made sure the physical aspects of the program stayed sound and fixed things where needed, Fuyuhiko badgered him into sleep, and Akane stopped just short of putting food in his mouth.

But as he worked endlessly (there was a pillow and air mattress in the room, but more often than not he collapsed right at the desk), the others dedicated their time to something just as important—rebuilding. This was to be their home, potentially for the rest of their lives. It had to be made as livable as possible, especially with Hajime (and Izuru, at times) putting absolutely everything he had into waking up their friends. 

It was day 43 when the successful psychodives began. A suited, red-eyed approximation of Hajime stared at him from the screen. World Destroyer. From what he had found, everyone still in the program had been immersed in an idealized world as they slept, having no idea that anything was wrong or would go wrong.

It was World Destroyer’s job to make that dream crumble. Even if it was painful, it (he?) would bring them back, and do it with utter privacy. Not even Hajime would see what they were experiencing. He had tried the dives before, but none had worked, and he’d had to frantically shut them off before someone was hurt.

But this time, it felt different. Hajime was sure he had it right, that this would work. To be honest, he was nervous. Very nervous. He had no idea what to expect, or if it would even work. Not to mention he had been working himself to the absolute edge of what he could handle. If he got up he’d probably collapse. 

But then again, that was only a “probably.” He stared at the screen in front of him, at the red-eyed avatar of himself.

_BEGIN PSYCHODIVE?_

_YES / NO._

He took a steadying breath. If all went well, his friends would be waking up now. He didn’t know how long it would take, nor was he quite sure of the order in which everyone would wake up. But he had no choice. Hajime was going to save everyone, no matter what.

He clicked yes.

_BEGINNING PSYCHODIVE._

_NOW IN PROGRESS: MIODA, IBUKI._

_SCANNING…_

A progress bar popped up on the screen. _ESTIMATED TIME REMAINING: 27 HOURS AND 13 MINUTES._

It had worked. It had _worked._

Letting out a shaky sigh of relief, he ran his hands through his hair, feeling lighter than he had since he woke up. “We did it.” He laughed— _laughed._ “We did it!” Ibuki is going to wake up!”

He stood up on shaky legs and miraculously didn’t collapse. But he was hit with complete dizziness and had to grab at the desk for support. _I should eat. I should really eat._

But instead he made his way over to Ibuki’s pod, her hanged body briefly flashing in his mind. This Ibuki was alive, her neck completely clean of bruising. She had been a good friend, and Hajime missed her liveliness. 

He stumbled down to sit beside her pod. If he didn’t eat soon, Izuru would likely come forward and tell him to. Take over if he didn’t. And he would…in a minute. He had to talk to her first.

“Hey, Ibuki. I know you can’t hear me, but you will soon, right?” He sighed, tucking his knees into his chest. “I wonder what you would have made of all this. God knows we need your energy.”

She looked a lot more peaceful when she was asleep. Her bombastic nature was now a running undercurrent, something that crackled like a live wire left alone. He couldn’t wait to have her back. 

“I miss you. I miss everyone.”

Sure, he had his friends, but it got lonely with only four other people to talk to consistently. Calls with Makoto and Kirigiri and Togami were nice but short and mostly focused on recovery and their progress. It wasn’t the same as seeing people in person.

He missed his parents. His friends from his old high school. He missed the massive golden retriever across the street from his house. He missed snow and surfing. 

“You know, I never did do all that great with keeping up with my friends before Hope’s Peak.” He knew, logically, that Ibuki couldn’t hear him, but when he was in the program with her, he felt like he could tell her anything. Despite her quirks and general hyperactivity, she was someone who knew how to listen. So it felt nice to sit next to her and work through his feelings.

“They probably think I’m dead. I mean, I was the only Reserve kid who made it out…but it wasn’t even me. Hell, a lot of them probably died, too. But maybe I can try and call them sometime.”

He’d already tried his parents’ numbers. The lines had been disconnected. Makoto had promised him he would try to find what he could of his family, but it wasn’t looking promising. 

“I guess everyone was right. I should have stayed where I was.” But, he supposed, someone else would have been made into Kamukura. “Well, if the project was inevitable…I’m glad only I had to go through it. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else.”

His memories of life before the project were almost completely restored, but the project itself was still fuzzy and pink tinted. It was selfish, perhaps, but he hoped those memories stayed blurry.

“I hope you wake up easier than I did, Ibuki. I hope you don’t have to go through anything hard to get out of your head.”

Hajime had woken up in a blind panic. He didn’t really know who he was, or who the other voice was in his head. All he had known was that there was an IV in him, and from where he was concerned, he was waking up from surgery. But someone was in his head, someone demanding to know who he was. 

He had woken up last, and he and Izuru were a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions, rapidly switching back and forth until they somehow pulled themselves apart. Awkwardly introduced themselves. Worked out what exactly had happened. 

But it had taken approximately three hours after he woke up to even answer to anyone, much less tell them that he was okay. 

“Yeah. I definitely hope you wake up easier than me.”

Affectionally patting the glass, he got up. “See you soon, Ibuki.” 

There was some food on the console (Souda had dropped it off last night. It was ice cold.) that Hajime quickly ate. He cast a quick look to the monitor.

_PSYCHODIVE IN PROGRESS. ESTIMATED TIME REMAINING: 26 HOURS AND 54 MINUTES._

He sighed, rolled his neck, and cast a look to a pod at the opposite end of the room. He had time. He had all day, in fact, to rest before Ibuki woke up. He could make a quick stop before he told everyone.

He walked over and sat down on the chair that often tended to be set up there. “Hey, Ko. If this works, I could have you up within the next two weeks. We have a lot to talk about. And we have a lot of work to do with that arm.”

He hated looking at it. It had been tactfully covered with bandages, but gangrene fingers and shiny, firetruck-red nails poked through the white gauze. “I’m gonna have to make you a better one.” Exhaustion washed over him as he stared down at his sleeping form. 

Much like Ibuki, he was far more peaceful as he slept. No manic laughter, no swirling eyes. But...he was thinner. Much thinner. “I guess we’ll have to help you with that, too. I want to help you. Even if you hate me.”

He had no idea how Komaeda was going to react to him. Further entries and dreams from Izuru had given more depth to their relationship in Hajime’s mind—he had really, truly loved Izuru. And Izuru had loved him. But...before he had died...he had hated Hajime, it seemed. And yet...

 _I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside of you._ At the time, he had no way of knowing that Izuru existed. So it had to be referring to him. He sighed and looked down. “We’re in a sticky situation, huh? And he’s gonna leave it to _us_ to figure it out. Figures that the smartest one of us stays out of it.”

He sighed. “I’m so tired, Ko. I’ve been tired for a long time. And...I’m scared of what you’re going to say to me. Because I...even though you did horrible things...I still, you know, like you.”

He had never gotten to say it, had never been able to force it out. _I like you._ And he did. A lot. Komaeda has effortlessly enamored and frustrated him to no end, each touch setting his skin on fire, repelling him but drawing him down deeper. He wanted to understand him, yes, but he also just...if he was honest...wanted him. Wanted to love him, care for him. And be loved in return.

Perhaps he and Izuru weren’t so different after all. 

_I should go tell the others. About Ibuki._

He ambled out of the room, half-asleep at this point. He couldn’t find anyone. It made sense, as they were beginning to remodel and relocate to the cabins. So he just left a note in the kitchen (a surprisingly common thing for him to do), walked back, and collapsed on his air mattress. 

Izuru’s journal sat beside it, barely read since the work had started, but it remained all the same. But since the Neo World Program was finally cooperating, he had time to read a little before he slept. 

He’d probably regret it--taking a break from it had been excellent for him. But it had to finished. Just as Izuru had permission to know what happened to Hajime, Hajime needed to know what happened to Izuru. Hajime sighed, and opened to the newest entry.

_Komaeda has begun to teach me emotions. He firmly believes that I am still capable of them. “After all,” he says, “someone as perfect as Kamukura surely cannot feel nothing!”_

_He has firmly decided that it is a matter of me simply not knowing how to feel, rather than an incapability. In his mind the word “can’t” does not apply to me._

_He taught me peace today. There was a little creek close to where we were sleeping. He took me by the hand down to the bank and had me place my other hand in the water. He asked me nicely to hold still, placing a hand on my shoulder._

_Touch is getting harder and harder to bear, but he is a strange kind of exception. His touch soothes rather than inflames. As we sat there, just watching the creek babble and slowly smooth out the rocks along the base, he asked if I thought I was calm and safe._

_I told him yes._

_“That is peace, Kamukura,” he said happily. “Knowing that you are safe and calm while you are taking part in the world around you.” The vegetation here was somehow still lush and green. There were flowers everywhere._

_“It seems there is not much peace left to be found.” There are few spots left untouched by despair already. War has erupted. Junko and her pets (us) have been spreading chaos and horror as easily as red wine spreads across a linen shirt. It has been...boring, how quickly the despair has spread and brought out the lowest in people._

_“I know,” he hummed softly, picking the daisies by the riverbank. “That’s why I wanted to show it to you first, Kamukura.” He reached over to me. “If you don’t mind trash like me touching you, could you perhaps lay on me for a moment?”_

_I obliged him, and he placed my head on his lap, beginning to play with my hair. He seems to like it very much. I allow him free rein on it, far more than I likely should. But for the messiness of his own hair, he is very good at helping me maintain it. “Why?”_

_“Well...with peace...often comes trust.” He began to braid daisies into my hair. “Not to say that I am worthy of Kamukura’s trust, but...to show you peace. I will ask it of you. Would you please close your eyes? It will help you listen to the world around you.”_

_“You already had it.” I trust him, did as he asked. Perhaps it is unwise to give him any measure of vulnerability. But he is so different from anyone I have ever met. While he venerates me, he still treats me as if I am human. I would like to be treated as human. It gives significant credit to the theory that I am, indeed, human. It Is the theory I would most like to be correct, even if it is the most boring in writing._

_Being less than human is boring, as I have no options besides what I am made to do._

_Being more than human is boring, as I have no choice but to be worshiped and answer prayers. Still, I must do as I am told._

_But if I am simply human, I have the free rein to do as I wish. My hands and eyes and heart are my own. Humans are often boring and predictable, like the vast majority of talentless ants scurrying about their daily lives. But some of them can surprise me. Like that boy who grazed me with that bullet._

_Like Komaeda, who braids flowers into my hair and brushes it out after I wash and dry it. Who tells me to close my eyes so I can listen to the birds. He has seen me kill a man who attacked us. He has seen me throw people into walls for touching me._

_And yet, he carefully asks permission, makes sure I am feeling safe before he goes to work._

_“Do you feel safe when you are with me, Kamukura? I apologize for being presumpt--”_

_“Yes.” I do. He will not attack me. He will not hold me down and kiss me and shove candy down my throat. He will not run endless tests on me and leave me hooked to five different machines to go get lunch. He will not...hurt me. At least, not without permission. He is someone who I can be around. He is someone who I can allow to touch me._

_So this is peace? Being safe and being satisfied in that fact? Indulging in that safety?_

_I think peace is fascinating._

_I think I like it._

_When he was finished braiding, he took me back to our resting place. I did not remove the flowers. They are...pretty. Komaeda says that, anyway. He says he likes pretty things. We spoke more, ate again. Nothing much of interest happened, except for one thing._

_We fell asleep in the same bed._

_End of entry._

Hajime laid back, feeling a strange sense of relief. So Izuru’s life hadn’t been entirely horror—it was good to know that he had been able to have a few good days. God knew he deserved them.

Izuru had done terrible things. But they all had. And even if he had masterminded the killing game (a line of bodies flashed in his mind); he was just as much a victim of Junko as everyone else was. And even before she had started dripping poison into his ears and acid down his throat, he still wasn’t treated as human. He had been mistreated so badly that he hadn’t been sure if he even _was_ human. Hajime was sure that the nurse had been just as falsely saccharine to him, that the doctors had shut him up at every possible opportunity. 

From the looks of it, only Komaeda and Naegi (to an extent) had ever treated Izuru Kamukura like he was a human being. A special human being, yes, but a human all the same. Junko, Hope’s Peak. They'd seen him as a tool. A puppet to dance and carry out their bidding. A caged bird, made to sing until his throat bled. 

Hajime rolled over, his eyes closing on their own. He would help Izuru, he decided as he started to fall into an exhasuted sleep. He would let him have the peace he liked. He would let him have a good day, as many good days as it took for both of them to be okay again. There were things Hajime wanted to show Izuru—music, art he liked, pictures of Hajime’s mom and dad. If they were okay and he could contact them again, he’d like Izuru to meet them. If he was ever allowed to go home, he’d take them to his old house, show him the surfboards and video games in his room. 

Izuru may have known basically everything, but he had no experience of a normal world. Someday, Hajime would change that. He would undoubtedly call it dull, and maybe that boredom had rubbed off on Hajime, but that was okay. 

As he drifted off to a quiet and sorely-needed sleep, the monitor beeped. 

_UPDATE: ESTIMATED TIME REMAINING: SIX HOURS, 19 MINUTES._


	13. Reunion Bop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :) don’t say i’m not good to you, my darling readers.

“Hajime? _Haaaaaajime?_ Come on...wake up!”

“Hajime!!!!!! Come on!!! Ibuki is bored!!!”

He was shaken awake by a new pair of hands. When his eyes opened, one Ibuki Mioda was standing over him, her grin as wide and bright as the sun. 

“I…Ibuki?” He jolted awake, his stomach doing flips, his heart racing. But he wasn’t panicking—in fact, he had a big, stupid grin on his face that he wouldn’t trade for the world. 

He smashed her into the biggest hug he’d probably ever given, immediately sobbing into her shoulder. Big, loud, ugly sobs too, definitely staining her shirt with tears. But he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. She was _here_. Their friends could be brought back.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he blubbered, holding on to her as tight as he could. _She’s here. She’s alive. She’s here. She’s alive. She’s here. She’s alive._ “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Ibuki, in a display of disproportionate strength, yanked him right up out of the air mattress into an even stronger hug. They could have crushed each others’ ribs for how hard they held on, but Hajime could tell neither of them really cared about that. It was the kind of hug that left you gasping for air, but one you would never want to leave. He clung to her, hiccuping softly. She held him hard until he stopped crying.

“Ibuki missed you too, Hajime! But you are Hajime, right?” Even with the question, she didn’t let go or so much as loosen her vice grip on him, hands bunching up in his shirt, grabbing at it so hard it may have ripped. But he wouldn’t have cared.

“Yeah. It’s me. But he’s still here, too.”

She squeezed him, lifting up off the ground and twirling him around with utter glee. “Yay!!! Two friends in one!” 

“I—Ibuk— _ack!”_

He sputtered, all the wind knocked out of him when she accidentally dropped him. How could she even drop him that hard? 

“Oopsie.”

Izuru came rushing forward, thinking they were being attacked.

_Hajime, are you—_

_Ibuki is awake. She called you her friend, just so you know._

_Oh. I will...let you reunite, then._ He retreated quickly, his utter confusion leaving Hajime in a blanket of mixed-up emotions.

He didn’t think anyone had called Izuru a friend. Ever. As he dropped back, Hajime amended to do his best to not just be Izuru’s headmate, but his friend, as well. He had a feeling Ibuki could help him with that.

Ibuki stood over him as he laid on the ground, not quite ready to get back up. “Is everyone else awake?”

“…Fuyuhiko, Sonia, Akane, and Kazuichi,” he choked out, still gasping for air. “You’re the first one of the…people who…” There was no nice way to word it. “…died…to wake up. But I think I can have everyone else awake within the next two weeks.”

She nodded, seemingly unaffected by the words. “Soooooo…where is everyone?” She grabbed his hand and yanked him back to his feet, pulling him towards the door. “Ibuki wants to say hi!” 

“I don’t know where they are, I just woke up—“

And he was being pulled along, rocketing through the halls before he could get a word in edgewise. 

Akane was found first. Hajime was dragged into the hug as well, once more finding himself slammed onto the floor. But he couldn’t find himself to be upset about it. 

They stayed there for a while, a tangle of limbs and tears. Hajime was smashed between them, perfectly content to give up easy breathing just to be close to his friends.

Ibuki squeezed them both, straining to wrap her arms around them both. “Come on! We have other people to dogpile!”

And again, he was pulled up and dragged along, but two sets of hands were on his wrists instead of one. He could learn to be addicted to this kind of breathless happiness, when his steps felt lighter than air and the sun was that much warmer against his skin.

It was Kazuichi who was found and tackled next. Then Fuyuhiko. Then Sonia. It was a heap of warmth, of love, of forgiveness. They sprawled out under the sun, backs pressed into the sand. Wind rustled clothes and the tide kissed their feet.

It was a good day, the first of many good days. They would gather together around the computer, send in World Destroyer as a group. 

Mahiru rose the next day to a group of smiling faces. Then Nekomaru. Hiyoko. Every day, more friends came back. 

When Peko awoke, it was the first (and likely last) time Hajime had even seen Fuyuhiko cry. And she had cried just as hard. Everyone had just left them alone for a while. On and on it went, the 77th class slowly but surely being reunited. A fair many of them were wary of Hajime, even after he explained that it was, well, him. And a fair few of them were wary of each other. 

But recovery was a process after all, and he was confident that relationships would be rebuilt as they all worked together to carve out a little life for themselves. As it now stood, they would likely be stuck on the island for a long time. Makoto had called nearly every day, both to greet the newly awakened people and to update them on the outside situation. He had said that while things were improving, and while the world was slowly but surely rebuilding, it wasn’t quite safe for them to come back yet. And it probably wouldn’t be for a while. 

“And besides, as far as Future Foundation knows, you’ve all escaped and are in hiding. They haven’t found me out just yet. It would be bad if you guys just...showed up, you know?”

And he would call Hajime and all of them privately, too. “I’m still looking for your parents, Hinata. Don’t worry. Thanks to some excellent detective work by Kirigiri, I was able to get ahold of your file. So I have their names and address and numbers. We know the numbers don’t work, but I’m going to check their house myself soon. The second I find them, or any new information, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

His voice had dropped then, grown more serious. “The others say you haven’t been sleeping again.”

He didn’t sleep often. Unless he was dropping from pure exhaustion like that night with Ibuki, Izuru had essentially monopolized sleeping. He didn’t have the same inhibitions (Hajime couldn’t bring himself to call it trauma) about sedation and sleep. It seemed the doctors hadn’t constantly stuck him with a needle the instant he upset them. They had made Izuru, after all. He had been shaped to be far more compliant than Hajime. 

Izuru himself had come up with the routine. _I know you have trouble going to sleep. So let me do it for us. When you are ready, call on me and I will put us to bed. Unless you need me to stay, I will let you front again when we awaken. But in return, you must keep eating._

_Okay. I can do that._

Of course, it meant Izuru dreamt, and he had to relive Izuru’s memories, but he’d take that over having to go through his own any day. 

“I sleep when I need to. There’s too much work for me to comfortably rest. Besides, only one person is left.” It was just Komaeda who still slept. Just Komaeda in the process of a psychodive now. But everyone was just a little more apprehensive to click the button to awaken him.

It wouldn’t have hurt Ko, but it hurt Hajime. He sat beside his pod as he talked to Makoto. He wasn’t supposed to be awake for at least another twelve hours, but Hajime wanted to be there when he was up. 

“I know, but...everyone is still concerned about you. You’ve been skipping the calls from the therapist for three weeks. You’re barely talking to anyone.”

He leaned back in the chair, gripping the knot of his tie. “I’m going to wake everyone up. And once I’m done that...I have surgeries to perform on Tsumiki to get that...thing out of her before it puts her into septic shock, and make Komaeda a whole new arm, and then there’s his cancer to deal with, and...”

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down,” Makoto said soothingly on the other end. “Just because you have all the talents now doesn’t mean you’re invincible. You’re gonna overwhelm yourself, you know? You can let some of the others take a little of the responsibilities, too.”

That’s what everyone had said. Hell, even Izuru had said that. “I know. I’m trying. But it’s hard to let go of control.” Loss of control meant being called to the headmaster’s office at three pm to sign documents. Loss of control meant being taken from his dorm at four pm and surrendering every possible way to contact or identify himself before five. Loss of control meant being put under the next day and being shoved back under every time he didn’t comply. Until he learned that even voicing dissent was useless, and even still, he was sedated. 

Loss of control meant losing everything. Not even Fuyuhiko knew how crippling the fear was. Neither did Makoto, though he saw its effects firsthand when that doctor came and checked on him. 

“And that’s why you should be talking to the therapist, Hajime. He can help you with that.” But could he? Would he ever really be able to get over it? Would he ever not instinctively cover his neck when he disagreed with someone? Would he ever be able to get a shot again without freezing up and completely dissociating? Even a regular checkup? 

“I don’t know. Between me and Izuru, there’s a mountain of things we can’t do anymore. It feels like I can never get over it just by talking about it.” 

“Talking does a surprising amount of good,” he said reassuringly. “Just admitting that letting go of control is difficult will make it a little easier the next time you have to. Trust me, I know why you’re scared. But you’re with your friends. You trust them, right?”

“Yes.” Of course he did. Was it even a question? He had been through hell and back with these people. Both he and Izuru had (even if the second hell had been of Kamukura’s design.). 

“And you’re helping them recover both physically and mentally, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So why can’t they help you?”

The question swirled in his head. It was a hard and embarrassing answer, but Makoto put him at ease. He was easy to talk to. “I...it’s hard to accept help. It’s hard to be vulnerable. The last time I revealed a weakness, the school exploited it over and over until I wasn’t...me.” 

Makoto was silent for a while. “Well, that is a sticky situation, isn’t it?”

Another voice came in on the phone, muffled and indistinct. Makoto quickly left the phone and talked to the person. “Really, right now?” He sighed. “I have to go. But please, pick up the next time the therapist calls. I’m worried about you, Komaru. I love you, sis. Talk to you soon.” The phone clicked. 

So it wasn’t Kirigiri or Byakuya talking to him. Makoto passed off his constant calls as messages to his sister on Towa City, one Komaru Naegi. Izuru had never met her but had mentioned that Ko had known her. Makoto had promised to bring her sometime, once he had gotten her from Towa. “You guys need someone normal to talk to eventually, after all.”

Hajime sighed and pocketed the phone. It was good to talk to Makoto, and he legitimately hated disappointing him. He was well and truly their saving grace, and Hajime owed his life and identity to him. Hajime wanted to do better for him, and his other friends. 

But before he could go any deeper into his guilt, the monitor beeped from across the room. 

_PSYCHODIVE COMPLETE. RETRIEVAL SUCCESSFUL. SUBJECT NOW RE-EMERGING..._

Komaeda stirred, and Hajime’s heart started. Everyone was right outside the room, happy to let Hajime be with him alone as he awoke. They would greet him, and were happy that he was alive, but until he was lucid, everyone agreed it was wisest to have him deal with Ko. He thought he’d have twelve more hours to prepare, but here he was now, waking up. _He was waking up._

He stirred again, the pod sliding its’ glass sheath back. His eyes opened, the same murky grey-green they had been in the simulation. 

“...Izuru?”

Hajime offered a hand and helped him sit up. Every word stuck in his throat. He was here. “No. Hajime?” 

He nodded mutely.

“Is everyone else...”

“You’re the last one.”

His voice was the same. There was no vitriol, no laughter. The same calm, even, kind tone from when they had first met. Hajime nodded, and the door behind him opened. “Welcome back, classmate.”

Just as everyone else, he was received warmly and hugged. Even Hiyoko greeted him and seemed to be relieved that he was alright. But unlike everyone else, his body was in bad shape. 

“Ah!” His little gasp of pain when Nekomaru hugged him would have been inaudible to anyone else. But Hajime heard it. 

“Hey, guys, give him a little space.” Hajime came up and put a hand over his shoulder, leading him away. His heart was in his throat, and it was a fight to stay calm. “Come on. We’re getting that arm off of you, right now.” 

“Hajime...” he mumbled. Ko must have been in a lot more pain than he was willing to show, because as soon as they left the room, he slumped into him. “I guess you saw through me, huh?” He chuckled. “He was always good at that, you know. But since you’re him...it makes sense that you’d be--”

“Izuru is still here, Ko. He’s with me.” 

Komaeda’s knees gave out. If Hajime hadn’t been there to grab him, he would have collapsed to the floor. 

“What do you mean?” His voice was breathless and hopeful. Abandoning reason, Hajime picked him up. He was light. Too light. “What do you mean, Izuru’s still here?”

“We’re both here. We’re different people. I’m fronting right now,” he said matter-of-factly as he carried him to the hospital room. Ko seemed too stunned to react or ask to be put down. It felt very similar to the simulation, when he had carried Ko to the hospital when he had been stricken with the disease. “But I’m sure he’ll come to talk to you soon.”

 _I am here._ Izuru had nearly rocketed to the front at the sound of his name passing Komaeda’s lips. _Is he alright? I wish to speak to him. Make some things clear._

Hajime gulped. _Are you going to tell him how I feel if I don’t?_

_If you are alright with me doing so. I said the decision was up to you two, but I want to make some things clear beforehand. And you tend to stumble over your words._

_Fine. Fine. Just let me deal with his arm. I’ll tell you when I’m done. Stay close._

_Very well._

Nagito sighed. “I...I never hated you, Hajime. Not really.”

Hajime almost dropped the boy. “What?”

They turned into the hospital room he had asked Mikan to set up. Ko shook his head, sighing. “It seems I misjudged you. Even if you were truly talentless like me, I don’t think I ever would hate you.”

“I don’t get what you mean.” Maybe he was imagining it, but Ko’s hands stayed wrapped around his neck a second longer than needed as he was lowered onto the hospital bed. Hajime immediately sat down on the stool and began to prepare for the procedure.

“I told you that I loved you in that simulation, Hajime Hinata, and I meant it, is what I mean. I loved your hope, and I loved you. I was just...not brave enough to say it.” The pain and his slow rise to full consciousness after being under for so long seemed to be making him speak frankly. Hajime jolted at the words. _So that settles that, then._ “The resentment I showed at the end was...misdirected hate at myself. You had so suddenly become just like me, and...” he trailed off. “But that isn’t important right now. We’re to take this beastly arm off, right?”

Hajime took a shaky look at the needle. He didn’t have to stick it into himself, but even loading it and injecting Nagito with the numbing agent was really, _really_ pushing it. “We are. Do you want full anesthesia or just local numbing?”

“Local. I just woke up, after all,” he said, that familiar easy smile back on his face. “And I deserve any pain--”

“You don’t deserve pain. And...” he shook his head. “I’m glad you don’t hate me. I just...” he sighed. “it’s embarrassing, really. I...”

If now wasn’t the time to confess, then it never would be. And if he didn’t do it now, he never would be able to. He had meant to wait, to be respectful and let him recover before unceremoniously dropping his feelings into Ko’s lap. But he was _here_ and he was _alive_ and he was _so fucking pretty_ that he couldn’t hold himself back.

“I liked you. A lot. I still do. And it hurt when you shoved me out like that.” 

Nagito’s eyes widened, and he took Hajime’s hand with his remaining one. His smile stayed on his face, but his eyes betrayed his confusion. “Surely you can’t mean that, Hajime! Someone as worthless as me can’t have won your affection!” His laugh was light and easy, and it shattered Hajime’s soul. “I’m not worth you or Izuru, you know. I can’t...I don’t deserve your want.”

He gripped Ko’s hand tightly. “Whether you deserve it or not doesn’t matter. You have it either way. And you have it from Izuru, too. He loves you so much, Ko, and he missed you. So did I.”

He got up from the stool, and sat next to Ko on the bed, resting their intertwined hands in the other boy’s lap. He still smelled like cucumber soap. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for five weeks. I could...I could barely get through your trial. Yeah, you did some truly bad things, but...” he puffed his cheeks and couldn’t hide the creeping blush. “You’ve got me good. I don’t know if you knew, but you’ve had me wrapped around your finger basically since we met.”

Ko squeezed his hand. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Hajime...and that’s why I pushed you away so hard. I didn’t want my luck to destroy you. And I surely don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve anything good.”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--_

Hajime leaned in, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek, his stomach awash in butterflies. “You do deserve this. You deserve healing. We both do. We have a lot to get through, but all three of us...you and me and Izuru, I think we can get through it. Together.”

When he pulled away, Ko’s eyes were wide and bewildered. “H-Hajime...I--” He let go of Hajime’s hand, grabbed his tie, and yanked him into a kiss. They crashed together and instantly fell into an easy rhythm. Muscle memory that he could thank Izuru for. 

Komaeda tasted like cream. Hajime reached up and took hold of his face, relief and want and confusion and maybe something like love crashing over him as they kissed. It was sweet, it was necessary, it was unsure and sudden, but it was perfect all the same. 

When Hajime finally pulled back to breathe, he felt like he was dreaming. Ko went bright red. “I--I’m so sorry Hajime...trash like me should never have even touched yo--”

“Shut up.” He grabbed his face and kissed him again, harder than the last time. Komaeda (Nagito?) stared at him with something like awe when he let go, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in shock. 

It was adorable. 

“You’re not trash. And I touched you first. I want anything you’re willing to give, or will give anything you want to take...Nagito.”

He huffed a breath, shaking his head. “But first kiss aside...I have to deal with your arm. It _has_ to come off.”

Nagito nodded shakily. “Of course…your first kiss. I took it. What luck that it was me,” he mumbled, that quiet little laugh coming back. “If it’s not too much trouble...before we continue...can I talk to Izuru?”

He came to attention at his name. _Please let me handle the arm, Hajime._

_We just kissed...twice. Keep that in mind._

_Worry not. I will handle this. I did not want you dealing with needles, either way. As soon as we are finished speaking, you’ll front again._

_Okay._

“Yeah. He’s gonna talk to you now,” Hajime said, that same fog coming over his head, making it hard to talk straight. But really, when had he ever been able to talk straight around Nagito?

“See...you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID NOT!!!!! I DID NOT MEAN FOR THEM TO KISS RIGHT AWAY!!!!! I SWEAR!!!!!! BUT I AM A SIMPLE GIRL WITH SIMPLE NEEDS!!!!! AHHHHH!!!!
> 
> why have 1000 people read this where are you coming from
> 
> anyway hope u enjoyed <3 i love u!!
> 
> -fen


	14. Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru and Nagito talk while Junko’s arm is amputated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter,,,ya girl got Distracted™️ 
> 
> they really do be talking a lot doe,,,worry not babies the journals are coming back Very Soon >:)
> 
> Happy arbor day go plant a tree mwah -fen <3

He was here. Awake. Staring at Izuru like he was every star in the sky. He was just as Izuru remembered him—still gifted with the faint smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, still cursed with the scarring around his neck from that horrible collar. Unless you looked for it, it was hard to notice, but there it remained—Nagito no longer was forced to wear it, but an entirely different collar had been left behind. An eternal reminder of what Towa had done to them. 

“Is it really you?” His voice was hushed, his eyes wide. “Izuru?” 

_Do we really carry ourselves so differently, that the change is that easy to see?_

A pale, slender hand reached out, tracing the contours of his face. It was an achingly familiar touch. He leaned into it, his eyes closing as he savored the feeling of skin on skin. Hajime and Izuru had that much in common—they were incredibly touch-starved. 

“You taught me a new emotion, when you were gone.”

His fingers were cold. “Did I, now?” he asked, a wry sort of amusement in his voice. Izuru’s hand closed over his, holding it to his cheek, savoring the cool softness, the welcome scrape of the calluses on his palms. “I thought Kamukura was done learning. I thought Kamukura knew everything by now.” Nagito pulled his head down, pressing kisses along his scars. 

If he had to pick a favorite thing Nagito did, it would be this. The surgical scars weighed him down, had always made him suspect that he was correct when saying he wasn’t human. But when Nagito pressed kisses to his imperfections, praised them, told him they made him beautiful, it soothed him when nothing else could. 

In a way now, they were matching. Crowned and collared, neither by their own choice.

“You taught me…how to miss you.” The admission was soft and low. If an outsider saw it, they would say Izuru was embarrassed. And there was indeed something rumbling about in his gut—something he couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps relief. Happiness. Contentment. All things Nagito had taught him how to understand and label, use to practically plan for his next move. 

Right now, he couldn’t care less about his next move.

“Is that so?” he breathed, seemingly unable to rip his eyes away from Izuru. “I missed you, too. But you look different now. Like Hajime. Brown hair...the green eye...the fact that I can see your cute little freckles because of the sun...it suits you.” 

Hajime was still close but knew to stay back until Izuru was done. You’ve got this.

“This is his body before it is mine.” He reluctantly let go of Nagito’s hand, sitting down at the small table next to the bed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “It is my duty to protect him before anything else now. I owe him a large debt, and a lifetime of atonement.”

“I assume he led the charge to pull us from the simulation, then?” He leaned back into the bed, running a hand through his hair and frowning. It looked like it was in desperate need of being brushed.

Izuru nodded. “He has worked tirelessly for six weeks to pull everyone out. Here, hold out your arm. I need to numb the area.” 

Nagito didn’t wince at the injection, but it would make sense that he was used to them. And Izuru knew firsthand that he had experienced far more painful things in his life, in their days together especially. “Do you love him, Nagito?”

The shock on his face was evident—Izuru had caught him off guard and now had his full, undivided attention. Exactly what he wanted. It was important to keep him distracted while he worked, so the amputation could go smoothly. Not many people could say they’d had their arm amputated twice. 

“I...” he looked away, something guilty on his face. “Yes. Yes, I do. But I’m confused about a lot of things...and I just woke up. I need to think things through...before I make any choices. I’m sorry that someone as worthless as me would make you wait, but...”

“You don’t have to choose, Nagito.” He steadied him and undid the old bandages. 

Finally, a part of Junko was as monstrous on the outside as she was within. The arm was completely rotted, the smell foul and the skin completely decomposed. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone into septic shock. Or perhaps luck, he thought bitterly. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. His was smaller now, hesitation clear in his every move. 

“You can have us both, you know,” he said quietly as the he made the first incision. “We both want you. And you want us both, correct?” It seemed logical to Izuru. And he was sure Hajime would agree. “I see it as the best solution. And I am sure Hajime will see it the same way. I leave the decision to you and him, but I am offering what I believe to be the proper course of action—hold still, Nagito.” He had shifted under Izuru’s steady grip on his shoulder, both to keep him calm and his arm still. 

“I--trash like me could never--”

“Nagito.” They stared at each other, tension thickening the air around them. “I will not have you shackle yourself to me, and further hurt both yourself and Hajime. He sighed, tucking a strand of Nagito’s hair behind his ear with a free hand. “He is better for you than I will ever be.”

And it was true. Hajime knew his emotions, could read what Nagito needed better than he ever could. He had kindness and more importantly, he had empathy. Izuru loved him. It was true, something he had fought to be able to do. But…

“I will still be here. You will still have me when you need me. But he cares for you deeply. I can tell just from when he thinks about you. He may love you back, or he will very soon.” The arm was almost off. Just a few more cuts, and he’d have it completely removed.

“I kissed him,” Komaeda blurted. “I kissed him...and he returned it. But I don’t want him loving me...I don’t want you loving me.”

With a clean and clinical snick, the arm was off, sneering at him from a medical tray. After shoving it onto the counter (as soon as Hajime came back it would likely be burned), he immediately began to disinfect, his movements as calm and methodical as ever. “Nagito, we have luck, too. We will not be torn from you. If Junko herself couldn’t shove you and me apart, then nothing will. And Hajime is far more stubborn than I could possibly be.”

Nagito was an easy patient to handle physically, likely coming from years and years of hospital stays. He knew what to expect, his pain tolerance was high. But he sighed as Izuru worked. “The fear will always stay. It’s just...” he shook his head, laughed lightly, and slid that familiar easy, kind, utterly genuine grin back on his face. “Everything is taken from me eventually. I do not wish that same fate to befall you and Hajime, you know.” 

He began to wrap up the bare arm in cotton bandaging.

“Talk to Hajime. Kiss him again, if you are so inclined. He would probably like it. But do not lie to him or be intentionally confusing about how you feel...please.” He sank to his knees beside the bed, looking up at him as he did. He didn’t want to tear his eyes away.

He was begging again. But this time, he was begging to someone who would understand. Nagito’s eyes widened, then softened, and he nodded gently. “Of course, Izuru.” His hand carded through Izuru’s hair, the same feeling as before, even if it was now short and choppy. “I promise to be honest with him. I promise to do as best as someone as worthless as I can do. And I promise to still put flowers in your hair.” 

He nodded, accepting the touch gratefully. “...thank you.” The words were foreign in his mouth. He was unsure if had truly thanked anyone before. But he meant it. 

“Are you ready for Hajime to return?” Nagito nodded quietly, gently giving one last kiss to the top of his head. 

“Goodbye, Izuru. For now.”

“For now.”


	15. Sundown Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime and Nagito have a heart-to-heart.

When Hajime came to, kneeling beside the bed, it smelled like antiseptic and rot. The offending arm sat innocently in a metal tray, like it had done nothing wrong. 

He gagged at the smell, coughing as bile rose in his throat. The stench of death was _utterly_ familiar and _utterly_ horrible.

_Byakuya. Teruteru. Mahiru. Peko. Ibuki. Hiyoko. Mikan. Nekomaru. Gundham. Nagito. Chiaki._ It all played in a flashing loop in his head, one he had to put all of his will into shoving out of his head. _That wasn’t real. They’re all here. They’re all alive...except Chiaki._

“H-Hajime?” Komaeda leaned over, his moving a hand that had been buried in his hair down to his cheek, giving him something to grab onto. Reaching for it, he squeezed Nagito’s hand hard and clapped his own over his mouth, trying desperately to stop himself from retching before he threw up right then and there. _“Hajime? Are you alright?”_

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Smell,” he choked out. He had to get the rotten arm out of the room and disposed of (burned) before he could do anything else. “I just need to get it out. Then I’ll be fine.”

“Let me help you--”

“No. No, it’s okay.” If he plugged his nose, he could avoid this one last posthumous attack from her. “I’m gonna...get rid of it. I’ll be right back.” Holding the tray out in front of it and waving off Ko’s protests, he practically sprinted down to the designated waste room. Thank God the facility had an actual medical wing, and he had a place to put this putrid...thing before it could be incinerated like it deserved to be. 

The arm taunted him as he dropped it into the “human waste” receptacle. (He was sure this was the wrong bin for an arm, but hey. It was waste. And he didn’t care all too much about getting it right.) One last time, Junko had made their lives just a little bit harder, a little bit worse. 

Almost without thinking about it, he went back to the Neo World room before he went back to Komaeda. They had a lot to talk about now that he was awake and sufficiently...well...unarmed. The journal lay on top of his lightly used air mattress. He snatched it and began to walk back, fishing for the key in his pocket. He had kept it and Chiaki’s clip with him ever since he found them in that plastic tub. 

Opening the door was surprisingly difficult. He stopped in front of it, taking a deep breath. The key sat innocently in his palm. It was incredible how such a little thing could hold so many stories that Hajime still didn’t know. There was so much intimacy in giving up something so important. He didn’t want to trample all over that intimacy, and he was fairly sure Izuru was going to be completely fine with whatever they chose to make of this new, strange relationship, but he wasn’t about to charge in blind. 

Izuru loved Nagito. Nagito loved Izuru. Nagito said he loved Hajime. Hajime didn’t know if he loved Nagito, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say he felt something close to it. Whatever was between them was fragile and blossoming, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d trample it—say the wrong thing, misinterpret Ko’s words, be too blunt and hurt his feelings—the possibilities were endless, really. He was determined to be careful, to make his feelings known and understand what Nagito said, no matter how long it took. Shaking his head, he turned the knob and walked back in.

“Hey. I’m back with a few things.” He resumed his position next to him on the bed, not really wanting to know how he had ended up kneeling next to it. “You and Izuru talked, right? Because...we’ve got to talk, too.” The journal sat in his lap, drawing Komaeda’s attention. 

“We did.” He reached out and smoothed a hand over the cover of the journal. “I never did look in here, but he wrote in it often. I was given permission to look, but, of course, why would I dirty his words with my presence?”

“I’ve been reading it to make sense of things. To figure out what the hell you were to him.” 

He cocked his head to the side, fluffy white hair leaning with him. “You didn’t just ask him?”

He shrugged, opening the book. “I did. He just told me to read it. He’s not really all that talkative, and I can’t talk to him unless he’s close to fronting anyway. And, well...I haven’t read very far, but...I found out a few things.” 

He pulled out the key. Komaeda’s eyes became as large as saucers, flushing near crimson. _I’m guessing he didn’t want anyone else to know._ “This is yours. It was in his stuff.” He took the key from Hajime slowly, gripping it tightly, looking at it like it was a bloody knife. 

“This is his, Hajime. I gave it to him with no intention of having it returned. And believe me, he tried.” He handed it back, closing Hajime’s fist over it. “It is yours, now, too. I...” he turned away. “I’m sure you want an explanation. I never told him why, but...it wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t know. And I’m sure you’d get it out of me even if I avoided it.”

“Nagito, I don’t want to invade your privacy, what you and Izuru did was none of my business--”

“No, no,” he said, running a hand through his hair, chuckling awkwardly. “It’s nothing like that. The Warriors of Hope actually forced it onto me when they captured me. It was quite humiliating, really! Children can be so cruel, don’t you think, Hajime?”

“Wait. Kids? They did...that to you?” he asked incredulously, gesturing to the ring of scars around Nagito’s neck. They were somewhat faint, able to be missed at first glance. But if you stopped and looked, they jumped out at you so much they might as well have been hot pink and flashing. “How did this happen?”

“Well...it was my luck, I presume. Izuru and I had been together for years at that point. Junko was dead. All was wonderful, really! But when we went to Towa, I was caught by them due to a nasty fall.” He looked up to Hajime’s utterly bewildered face. “I should say that Junko had also manipulated these children. She tricked them into hating all adults...but I can’t blame them, really.” His face became downcast, and he sighed. “Their parents were horrible to them, every last one of them. They were going to kill me, you know. But I begged for my life, and they agreed to let me live if I acted as a servant to them! And so they shoved that collar on me, and I served them for a long time after that, up until Izuru and I were captured, actually. I found the key not long after they collared me, and I decided to trust it to him. 

“Even if every bit of control I had was taken from me, it was...freeing to _give_ that right to someone, instead of having it taken.”

Hajime’s hand covered his own and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Komaeda smiled weakly at him. It felt far more genuine than any of the ones he’d given Hajime...ever. 

A distant look entered his face. “I do hope they’re alright. Truth be told...I don’t even know if any of them survived, except Monaca.” He gripped Hajime’s hand harder. “As horrible as they were to me, I did love them. I did try to raise them as best as I could.” 

“They were like...your own kids, at the end of it all, weren’t they?” 

He nodded and bit his lip, casting a glance out the window. “Yes. They were. I do hope they’re all right. I think...I was all they had. As worthless as I am, I really did try.”

He looked devastated. Hajime awkwardly pulled him into a hug, guilt swallowing him whole. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something painful--”

“It’s quite alright. I know Hajime would never hurt me on purpose. Not that I would object if he did--”

“Nagito. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said sternly, shifting to his knees so he could fully wrap his arms around him. “I’m sorry for bringing that up.”

He melted into the hug, letting Hajime hold him. “I just...I want to know if they’re alright. I’m sure they hate me. But I’m alright with that...I just want to know that they’re okay. They weren’t...bad kids,” he mumbled into Hajime’s shoulder. “Just manipulated and fed lies by Junko until they were convinced that adults were the incarnation of evil.”

“I’ll...I’ll call Makoto later. His sister is on Towa. She’d probably know if they were alright.”

He looked up, pulling away to look at Hajime. “Komaru? She’s still on Towa?”

He nodded hesitantly. “As far as I know.”

Nagito went to cross his arms, then stopped when he realized that he only had one hand to cross.

“I owe her an apology,” Nagito sighed. Hajime sat there quietly, determined to listen. “I certainly caused my own fair share of trouble in that city. Even if it was all for hope, I made quite a mess of things. I doubt she even knows my name. Not that I gave it, of course!”

Towa. That was where they were when Izuru had been caught, he presumed. Nagito shifted, seemingly trying to make his arm more comfortable. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you. Is your arm bothering you?”

“Not anymore,” he reassured. “But thank you.” He leaned back into the mass of pillows. “I suppose I’m going to have to adjust to life with one arm now, aren’t I?” He shook his head, the same grin he always wore returning yet again. “It is what I deserve, I suppose.”

“I’m working on a prosthetic right now,” Hajime said, shaking his head. “You’ve...you’ve gotta stop talking like this, Nagito.”

“I am sorry, truly. But it is true, is it not?” He leveled his gaze with Hajime, something steely glinting in the depths of his eyes. 

Hajime shook his head. “No...no, it isn’t. But I know it’s some sort of coping mechanism for you. I know you probably can’t stop yourself just like that. So I’m not going to ask you to just...quit it completely. Not yet. But can I ask you to...try to be a little more forgiving of yourself?” The statement felt pointless; Nagito deprecated himself the way other people talked about the weather. 

“I know it hurts you when I talk about myself like that.” He looked so frail and thin in the bed, being utterly swallowed up by the sheets. “I don’t...want to hurt you, Hajime.” Even his shirt swamped him. “Izuru told me that you cared about me.” It was an unsure statement. 

“I kissed you, didn’t I?” _Nice going, Hinata. You were reaaaaal careful about that._ Hajime shook the thought from his head and moved to take a seat right next to Nagito. “I do care about you. Very much. I don’t...know if it’s love. But it could become that. Easily.” He trained his eyes on the sheets, his cheeks burning red. “I don’t want to make you choose between us.” Because you’d choose him.

“That’s what he said,” Komaeda mumbled absently, leaning his head on Hajime’s shoulder. “He said...that he was leaving it up to us...but he didn’t want me to choose between you two, either. He said...I could have you both. But if you didn’t want that...to choose you.” 

“What? Why me?”

The sun was beginning to sink below the sea outside the window. “He said you were better for me than he could ever be. Because you don’t have to taught how to feel...you just _do.”_

He sighed, and leaned back against the pillows, pulling Nagito along with him. The other boy cuddled up next to him, fitting into his side like they were made to sit next to each other. His fingers idly ran through Nagito’s hair as he talked. “I’ve got no intentions of making you pick between us, either.” It wouldn’t be fair—not to him, not to Izuru, _certainly_ not to Nagito. There was nothing to be jealous of, nothing to hold against Izuru for the proposition. It made sense, and it certainly spared everyone a whole lot of grief. 

“If we do go through with this...I promise not to get jealous, okay?” 

The look on Nagito’s face was three things. It was...

1) utterly flabbergasted,  
2) utterly relieved, and  
3) _utterly_ adorable.

“Do...do you really want me, Hajime? I’m a mess, you know. And I was...terrible to you. To all of you.”

His hand carded through Nagito’s hair as his head began to slump. He was tired. _So_ tired. “Yeah. You did. But I could always tell that you were just trying to help us. Even if your methods...and some of those beliefs you held were wrong, you were trying to help us. I can forgive you for that. I’m not holding anything that happened in the simulation against anyone.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Nagito’s head. “I’ve seen the potential for what you could be in a peaceful setting ever since the beginning. And I want to help you. Just like I want to help everyone else.”

“You had better be included in that “everyone.””

He was, but he had been sorely neglecting himself basically since he had awoken. For Izuru, for the journal, for his friends, he had taken the back burner. Even the doctor’s visit hadn’t brought him to his senses. In his head, he was fine (well, fine enough). He would come later, after everyone else was done being hurt. Maybe fine was the wrong word (no, it definitely was), but he counted himself as doing far better than the others. So he came last.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?” He had forgotten just how perceptive Nagito was. How vital he had been to solving those cases, picking up the little things everyone else had looked over. Even if he had been cryptic and infuriating, they wouldn’t be here if not for his help. And now it was being used on him. His voice softened. 

“Oh, Hajime...you’re not doing very well at all, are you?” 

The shame that overtook him burned deeply as he shook his head slightly. “Not at all.”

Logically, he knew that having Izuru put them to bed every night and being basically ordered to eat in exchange was bad. Working for thirty-six straight hours so he didn’t have to go to sleep was bad. Fighting against losing his cool every time he thought control would be taken from him was bad. All of these things were bad. But everyone else had to come first. He owed it to them as their sort of de facto leader, and they certainly had it worse than he did. Izuru had put them in that killing game. He had to make it up to them somehow.

If he fell apart, so would everyone else.

Nagito pulled him down, so that Hajime was laying on his chest. “Rest. You need it, Hajime.”

“I have things to do. You still need to eat, and--” he protested, sitting up. Nagito pulled him right back down, huffing out a breath. 

“Don’t worry about me. I am quite alright, especially since that arm is finally off.” He used his hand to rub small circles into Hajime’s back. “You’re tense. You know you can talk to me, right? Especially after I told you all that.”

Hajime caved at the soft touch, the kind words. Komaeda...was entirely different from the boy he had found in that warehouse. He had grown and matured significantly in his time with Izuru and those children. Somehow, despite his years being in the thrall of Enoshima and her despair, he had grown kinder. Had become a better listener, someone who cared for others and nurtured the hope budding in them.

“I’m exhausted,” he admitted. “I can’t slow down, especially not when everyone has just started to recover. Some of them...I’m going to have to earn their trust, especially because he’s still here. I can’t just stop when everyone else is hurting so badly.”

“You’re hurting yourself, sweetheart,” Nagito mumbled. Hajime couldn’t see himself, but he was sure he was red as a tomato, a mixture of guilt and being called a pet name making him a little hot under his collar. “If you just work and work until you collapse, we’ll only worry for you.”

“I can’t...” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t stop myself. Even if you guys are all awake now. I have to...I have to help build, I have to get that... _thing_ out of Mikan tomorrow, and if I stop to sleep, I’ll remember things, so I let him sleep for us, and he remembers things too, but I’d rather live through what he went through than remember anything else...it’s always the project. Nothing else.”

“So _you_ aren’t even sleeping, then...” his voice trailed off, and Hajime just knew that he was frowning. Nagito stopped rubbing his back and pulled the covers up over them. “Can you try, just one more time? Maybe if you’re with someone else, it won’t be so bad.”

“I don’t think it works like that.” He tried to get up again, but Nagito kept him firmly in place, surprisingly strong for his frame. Hajime was too tired to fight him any further, and instead curled up next to Nagito. He had so much to do, but he was at his limit.

“Even if it isn’t, you need to sleep. You can’t rely on him for that.” His voice was stern. “He’s here and he only wants to help you, but he’s not your crutch. He shouldn’t have to do that for you.” He resumed rubbing Hajime’s back, the movements easy and light, like he’d done it a thousand times before. “You need to recover, and you can’t just rely on him. He has his own things to deal with, you know.”

A flash of guilt struck him. “I know. I’m just...it’s so scary to close my eyes because I’m going to wake up on an operating table. I _know_ I am.”

“Have you tried taking something to sleep? Mikan, I’m sure, would love to help--”

“I tried. It’s too...it’s too close to being sedated.” The word was acid in his mouth, but even that wasn’t enough to keep his eyes open. “I _can’t_ deal with that.”

He sighed, his chest rising and falling deeply. His heartbeat was a quiet reassurance in Hajime’s ears. “It seems like you’ve got a big problem to face, Hajime. But you aren’t alone, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbled, words getting harder to say. “I know.”

“I’m going to help you go to sleep tonight, okay?” 

“Mhm.” 

He was humming to Hajime soon after, some little lullaby that he faintly remembered his mom singing to him when he was little. The fear was still there, and he still fought desperately to stay awake, but the call of his body and Nagito’s efforts soon had him defeated.

He fell into a calm sleep in Nagito’s arms, still in his shirt and tie. It was the best sleep he had gotten in weeks. 

When the dreams came, he was ready for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am REVELING in being able to write komaeda....what a funky lil dude !!!!!!
> 
> anyway i love all of you!!! you guys always leave such nice comments and i’m really touched that so many people are enjoying my work. :,) 
> 
> wash your face, take any prescribed meds, and tell someone you love them today!!! you are doing your best!!! -fen <3


	16. The Price of an Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nurse haunts Hajime’s sleep.

_The heart monitor beeped steadily. It hurt to bend his arms, the ugly mix of yellow and purple bruising making him wince every time he moved. There was a needle taped into his wrist, delivering saline in a slow, steady drip. He felt woozy, and his stomach was on fire. But really, when did he have a clear head anymore?_

_A doctor in scrubs stood over him with a clipboard, writing down his vitals. “Can you speak?”_

_He tried, opening his mouth. “I...It’s hard.” The words were clumsy and oversized in his throat, stumbling over his tongue and dropping from his mouth like balls of lead._

_The doctor nodded, his expression hidden under a mask. “You’re recovering right on schedule. Once the anesthesia wears off, you’ll be just fine.”_

_“What...did you do this time?” He couldn’t really get up. He wasn’t strapped down, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His throat felt like sandpaper. “I’m thirsty.” It was making talking even harder._

_He waved over the nurse, mumbled something to her. “Get him some water.” Hajime counted himself to be a fairly tolerant and patient person, but he couldn’t keep himself from frowning. He didn’t like her at all. She had never so much as told him her name, yet she seemed to put everything into smothering him with some discount version of motherly affection._

_He peered down at Hajime through wire-rimmed glasses. “We operated on your stomach today. You’ll be far less susceptible to poison or digestive issues.”_

_So, that explained why it hurt so bad. But… “Poison?” Who, exactly, was going to poison him? And how were they going to test it?_

_“Don’t worry about it. It’s a simple precaution.” The nurse returned with a glass and a straw. Yet another small indignity he had just learned to live with. She placed the straw in his mouth for him and he drank quietly, listening to the doctor prattle on._

_“We’ll test your resistance to the poisons tomorrow. But now, you need to rest.” The look in his eyes was cold and clinical. It felt like he was looking through Hajime, rather than at him. Or if he was looking at him, he was seeing him more as a thing than a person. “As soon as the bandaging is changed, you need to go back to sleep.”_

_He was sick and tired of sleep. It was all he did, all he was allowed to do. What he wouldn’t give for something to do. It seemed preposterous, but he desperately missed his schoolwork. It felt like his brain was turning to mush. “Why do I...have to go back to bed again?” He had just woken up. “Why can’t I rest without sleeping? Can’t I just...read or something?” His words felt heavy and were hard to push out._

_The empty glass was put on a side table. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to stop the nurse from reaching down and untying his hospital gown. His face burned as she pulled it open, exposing wraps of bloody bandaging running from the base of his ribs to just above the waistband of his boxers._

_His eyes glinted at the mess. “You can either lay here in silence for hours on end without moving, or go back to sleep. Your recovery is vital. We will take absolutely no risks with it.”_

_So no, he wasn’t going to be allowed to read._

_He bucked as the nurse began to edge down his boxers, blind panic setting in. “HEY—“_

_“Calm DOWN, Hinata,” the doctor ordered sternly, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back down into the bed. “She just needs room to change the bandaging. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”_

_“But--”_

_“I don’t want to hear it. Get ahold of yourself.”_

_He glared and relented, burning with embarrassment as his boxers were bunched around his hips. Everything stayed covered, but that wasn’t really making it much more bearable. He was still being undressed by a woman who might as well have been a stranger, held down by another doctor who knew him intimately, but only through operating on him in so many ways. He didn’t even know the doctor’s name._

_“Hold him up, please, so I can unwrap him.” The clipboard was set down and he was hoisted up by the armpits, suddenly having sympathy for every stuffed animal he’d ever held like this. The anesthesia made him feel faint and dizzy, and he was as limp as a ragdoll in his arms, the nurse quickly undoing the mass of bandaging._

_He managed to cast a look down, and didn’t like what he saw. Ugly black stitches ran across his stomach like centipedes. He had been crudely sliced open and sewn back together in a way that didn’t feel like it fit right._

_“Make sure he sleeps on his back and doesn’t move,” the doctor said, shifting to get a better grip on Hajime. “We can’t have these rip.”_

_She rubbed an alcohol wipe and some cold salve on his stomach, looking up at him when he flinched. “Keep still, okay, hon? It makes it easier.” He was sure it was some sort of medical impossibility they had whipped up to make him heal faster. But at this point, he was a medical impossibility, too._

_His breaths were labored as she wrapped him in white gauze, pulled his boxers back up. He felt like shit. Like he was being seen more as a pet, a lab rat, than a person. She patted him on the head. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?” He flinched at the touch._

_The doctor dumped him back on the bed, picking his clipboard back up. He uncapped the pen with his teeth, taking some more notes. “Change his gown and put him to sleep. We’ll see if he can keep food down when he wakes back up.”_

_“I can change myself.”_

_He raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to be exerting yourself any more than you have to.”_

_“How is changing—“_

_He sighed and crossed his arms, impatiently tapping his pen against his arm. “Stop being defiant. You signed up for this.”_

_Again, they leveled that damn signature against him. He signed up, yeah. But he didn’t consent to be demeaned like this. If he had, they’d hidden it under pages and pages of medical talk he had no way of understanding._

_There was no use in protesting, really. It wasn’t like he could do much to protest. He was too high on the cocktail of drugs they’d fed him and in too much pain to fight._

_When he got out of here, he’d never touch a drug ever again._

_“I’ll see you in the morning, Hinata.” He walked away, Hajime’s eyes burning holes into his back as he left, locking him in with the nurse. Even if he could get up and try to get anywhere (if there was anywhere to go), he was confined to this massive, empty room._

_The nurse sat him up again, carefully removed the IV and discarded it, and began pulling the gown off of him after cleaning and covering the prick with a band-aid. The air was freezing against his skin as she took it off, his arms erupting in goosebumps._

_Hajime’s body was a testament to medical malpractice. He was covered in bandages and bruises, new clean, surgical scars popping up every week. His legs were still wrapped up from when they somehow gave him the strength and coordination to utilize the various running and dancing talents he had been imbued with._

_The gown was dumped in a hamper, alongside several identical ones. Hajime had been able to change himself only once in the past week. He was getting uncomfortably used to having it done for him. He didn’t like it, and he always protested, but he was growing accustomed to being disrobed and redressed like a bossy girl forcing her little sibling to play dress-up with her._

_He sat there silently, glassy-eyed as she quickly and efficiently checked him over. Even if he hated her, he had to admit that she was good at her job. Bandages were discarded and rewrapped, freezing-cold alcohol wipes disinfecting every inch of exposed skin. “You’ll be able to bathe when you wake up, okay, honey?”_

_He hated it when she called him pet names. It felt so fake, like she was purposely trying to win him over, to get him to trust her. But he nodded sullenly. At least he’d be allowed to clean himself this time. When they operated on his arms or legs, he would have trouble bathing. She would swoop in when he faltered, full of fake motherly concern, and take over, scrubbing his hair and washing his back. It was utterly humiliating every time it happened._

_Everything she did humiliated him._

_“Okay,” he mumbled absently. He was too tired and in too much pain to say anything else._

_“Here. Hold out your arms.” Hajime did as he was told, the nurse shrugging it onto him. He laid back as she tied it, smoothing down his hair. He flinched away from the touch._

_“I don’t want to sleep anymore.” He sounded like a pouty child and he knew it. But if he was being treated like one, he might as well act the part._

_She pulled the sheets over him and reinserted the IV anyway. When he tried to sit up, he was firmly pushed down. “You won’t get any better if you don’t sleep.”_

_“All I DO is sleep.” She tsked, continuing to tuck him in. This is what it was like to be a doll forced to play house, then. “I can’t do this anymore—“_

_She pressed a finger to his mouth. “Hush. Remember why you’re doing this. It’s not forever.”_

_The syringe was waiting on the table. She filled it quickly and carefully, utterly ignoring the panic growing in his eyes. “Please. Don’t make me go back to sleep.” His voice cracked, and tears were threatening to spill. He was scared. Scared of this woman and her plastic smile, scared of being pulled back under, scared of waking up with yet another operation having been done. He was scared of everything._

_He cringed when she pressed another detestable kiss to his forehead, pressing the plunger on the syringe at the same time._

_“Rest well, Hinata.”_

_“I hate you.”_

——-

Nagito stared at the ceiling, the weight of Hajime pressed on his chest leaving him purely euphoric. It was dark outside now, the clock reading 3:27 AM. The other boy breathed softly, open-mouthed on his chest. Someone he didn’t deserve, not one bit—kissing him. Saying he maybe, just _maybe_ loved him back. He could only wonder what his luck had in store next, but for right now, he wouldn’t think about it.

He was deeply asleep, gently mumbling something.

“I...can...change myself,” he protested, his words slow and indistinct. Nagito ran a hand through his hair. Hajime balled his shirt in his hand. His brow furrowed, and his body began to tremble.

Fear. 

Hajime didn’t often show fear. Unless he was caught off guard, or faced with a literal corpse, he was strong and resolute, always doing his best to lead the others. It was inspiring, really. His hope was so wonderfully strong that he would refuse to crack in front of others. It was only one of several reasons he deeply admired Hajime. 

So if he was this scared, something must truly be wrong. “Hajime?” he murmured, shifting so that he was propped up against the pillows. Hajime stayed firmly asleep on his chest. “Are you alright?” 

He chuckled, then. What a silly thing to ask. _He is asleep, after all!_ Nagito was certainly much stronger than he looked, coming from years of catching Izuru when he would collapse from exhaustion or carrying around two or three children at once, perhaps more. However, having only one arm made it difficult to adjust Hajime to still lay on his chest. The boy in question didn’t even stir. But he was still shaking, keeping Nagito’s shirt in a vice grip. 

“Hajime?” He spoke a little louder this time. No response. If anything, he was shaking harder. 

“I don’t want to sleep anymore,” he protested sleepily. He would have sounded rather like a child, well--he sounded exactly like a child, even with the utter terror in his voice. 

He gently took Hajime’s shoulder and shook him a bit. Nothing. He shook a bit harder, and he groaned. “Hajime? Can you hear me?”

His eyes blinked open slowly, the red one seeming to glint a bit in the dark. Just like Izuru. “...huh?” He shook his head, sitting up a bit. Nagito had to stop himself from pulling him back down, missing the warmth and weight on his chest. 

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” he said softly as Hajime came to. “You seemed scared, so I...woke you up. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I was dreaming. It actually wasn’t so bad tonight.”

Now _that_ worried Nagito. He had been trembling, begging not to be put to bed, it seemed. If that was a good dream, he could only imagine what the nightmares were like. But, he understood crippling nightmares just as well as anyone. But at least he would be reasonably prepared for the nightmares--they were always the same, for years and years. The plane crash, the hands shoving him into a trash bag. His dog. Things he could deal with. 

“Hajime...you were shaking. Badly.” He reached over and turned on the lamp, casting their room in a soft amber glow. “I worried for you. Would you like to speak about it?”

He sighed, tucking his knees to his chest. His face burned red. It wasn’t the same cute flustered expression as when he was caught off guard or embarrassed. This was some sort of deeper humiliation, something that actually left a mark. 

“It’s _embarrassing,”_ he mumbled. “It shouldn’t get to me like it does.” 

Nagito leaned in closer to him, gently urging him to lay back down. “You should not be ashamed of what hurts you,” he said softly, placing his stump on Hajime’s back. It was a poor excuse for a steadying hand, but his other immediately went around Hajime as well, holding as well as he could. “You can tell me.”

“You shouldn’t be comforting me, you just woke up, you need to rest--”

“Hajime, you were shaking. Begging someone not to put you to sleep. Bottling your fear will not solve it.” He ran his finger down Hajime’s arm, surprised at the muscle he found. “I promise you.”

He sighed, and wiped at his eyes. Was he crying? Hajime couldn’t _cry_ \--that was no good! As best as he could, he reached up and wiped at Hajime’s eyes. “It’s alright. Between the two of us, I think you’re worse off.” 

He shook his head, begrudgingly letting Nagito hold him. “There was…there was this nurse. Whenever the doctors weren’t all over me, she took care of me.” He took a blanket from the base of the bed and wrapped it around himself and Nagito. “She treated me like I was...a toddler. She always was smothering me. And I...remembered something.” 

“What was it?” He pressed lightly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. He was hurting deeply, and all Nagito wanted to do was help, but poking at an open wound could often make it worse.

He curled into himself. “After operations, I usually couldn’t move around all that easily. And they pumped full of so many drugs that I could barely tell what was up and what was down. She’d...do a lot of basic things for me. That I could have done myself, even if it would have been difficult.”

Oh. _Oh._ “I’m sorry, Hajime,” he mumbled. “That must have been terrible…” 

He shook his head silently. “I wasn’t allowed to even feed myself or change my own clothes, sometimes. It was humiliating.” His voice cracked. “I’m so afraid, Nagito. Of being reduced to that again.” 

“You won’t be,” he reassured. Hajime tucked his head back into Nagito, squeezing his eyes shut. “Nobody is ever going to hurt you like that ever again.” He would make sure of it. He couldn’t do much, he was trash after all, but he could make sure Hajime felt safe and in control of himself. That he didn’t have things like that taken from him again.

“It’s scary,” Hajime said, slumping into him. He must have been exhausted to still be this tired after sleeping for a good while. “I...I had _nothing_. I always think that...this is a dream, too, and I’ll close my eyes and wake up on the operating table and it’s not just a memory, it’s real, and I’ll just be an experiment again.”

He pulled in Hajime close, smoothed out the blankets around them. “I promise that this is real. You will be alright.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” Nagito wasn’t great at picking up on social cues. But even he could tell that this was a loaded statement.

“I’m not going to make you,” he said carefully. “If you wish for me to stay awake with you, I will.”

“No, _no_. You need to sleep. Stop worrying about me.” His brows furrowed, but his face softened as Nagito traced the contours of his face with an idle hand. 

“Truly, you are lovely, Hajime. I wish to see your face asleep beside me when I wake up. Is that too much to ask?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching his face up. “No...but I’m...I’m scared.” The words hurt him, Nagito could tell. He didn’t like being scared. He wanted to be strong for everyone else. 

“That’s okay. I’m going to be right here, alright? I’ll protect Hajime as long as I have to.”

“Okay,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Okay.” 

It wasn’t long before Hajime’s breathing evened out and he fell back asleep. Nagito smiled, treasuring everything Hajime had said. He would do his best to care for him and help him recover from what he had gone through. That was how he’d repay him. For waking him up, for removing that dreadful arm, for going so far as to make a prosthetic. 

Truly, Hajime was too good for him. He sighed happily as he fell asleep. _I can help rebuild his hope._

It was a far more peaceful sleep than he’d ever had in the Neo World Program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of the concepts i have come up with whole writing this, the nurse is definitely my favorite to write about and my favorite to absolutely hate.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and all the kindness you’ve been giving me! You are loved!
> 
> -fen <3


	17. Wake-up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i’m too tired to proofread this i really need to stop staying up til 2:30 to finish these anyway i love you enjoy mwah mwah 
> 
> -fen <3
> 
> ps tomorrow is komaedas birthday don’t think we won’t be celebrating darlings

When Hajime woke up, there were voices around him. He kept his eyes closed and stayed still (if the doctors didn’t know he was awake, it was more likely that they’d leave him alone.).

“Why didn’t he come back when he was finished, Nagito? We were looking for him all night!” It seemed Mahiru had found them, then.

“It’s not his fault, really! I made him stay with me…”

She sighed. “Geez...he still had stuff to do, you know.”

“He was exhausted, Mahiru,” Nagito protested lightly. “Don’t wake him up. Let him take a break.”

Hajime but the inside of his cheek, staying quiet and still.

The bed shifted as Mahiru sat down next to him. It was a while before she spoke. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ve seen him sleep since I woke up, really. I’m worried about him.”

An exhale, from Nagito. “I haven’t been awake long enough to know how he’s been acting. But from what he’s told me...I don’t think he’s doing very well.”

A hand was placed on his shoulder, rubbing lightly. “He’s doing his best. I know he just wants to help. But it would be nice if he could let go, you know…it wouldn’t kill him to let us run a few things. He’s overworking himself, and...it’s a little scary. He’s going to collapse somewhere someday soon, and we won’t be able to help him.”

Guilt stirred up in his gut.

“I think he’s scared of losing control.”

“What exactly did he tell you, Nagito?”

A long pause. Hajime considered “waking up” right then, just to make sure those things stayed private. But he did want to know if Nagito would actually say something. He doubted that he would tell what Hajime had said so easily, but Mahiru could be incredibly persistent.

“I’m not betraying his privacy like that. And I certainly don’t know everything. But…” he sighed deeply. “Some things have happened.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” she resolved. “Right now.”

“Wait, Mahiru, no—let him sleep—“

It was too late. She was shaking him now. “Get up, Hajime.”

He sighed and opened his eyes. “I’ve been awake. Just listening.”

She turned as red as her hair, then gave him a good-natured swat on the shoulder. “Makes sense that a boy would eavesdrop. Look at you. You’re still in your _tie,_ Hajime!” She fussed with it, straightening it out for him.

He sat up, rubbing at his eye. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, you know. I just…”

“You needed to sleep,” Nagito cut in, smiling brightly. “Good morning, Hajime!”

Mahiru stood from the bed. “You needed to sleep. And now you need to talk.” Her voice was gentle but firm.

Hajime’s shoulders slumped. He was tired of rehashing the same things over and over and over, putting himself through those painful memories again and again just so people could “get it.” He didn’t want to think about that nurse—he had a different one to deal with. Mikan’s operation was today.

He stood up, fixing his poor, rumpled shirt and tie. “Not right now. I have things to do.” He started for the door, his mind a mix of ugly emotions he didn’t want to deal with. His fists were balled, and his whole body was tense.

“Hajime—“ Nagito. His voice was soft and apprehensive. Like he was scared.

“Hajime, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m worried about you, you know.” Mahiru. She sounded concerned, almost motherly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He was getting irritated, feeling pushed. “Please.”

She came up and took his hand, her gaze softening. “We’re worried.”

“I heard.” He didn’t want to talk about it again. Every time he did, he felt like he could hear a heart monitor, beeping insistently at him. Every detail he choked out made it louder. “And I appreciate it. But I’m not going over this again.”

She stood her ground. “You need to tell someone what’s going on with you--“

“Would you like it if I pressed you about every horrible thing you did?” he snapped, snatching his hand away. “What I went through was _humiliating,_ Mahiru. Nagito knows some of it. Fuyuhiko knows most of it. Makoto knows...fucking everything. I’ve said _plenty_ about what’s going on, and I’m _sick and tired_ of it!”

She flinched.

He turned the knob. “I’ll be back to operate on Mikan.”

“Hajime—“

“Don’t follow me.”

He slammed the door on accident.

As soon as he was down the hall, he broke into a dead sprint, fleeing from the voices and sounds of following footsteps.

“Hajime, I’m sorry, _wait—“_

He tore through the halls, shoving past anyone he saw, not letting them get a word in edgewise as he ran, making the escape he could never have even attempted before. He didn’t stop once he was outside. He just kept going. To where, he wasn’t sure. He’d end up where he ended up.

_Hajime, what is wrong?_

_Fuck off._

He just wanted to be left alone. No Nagito, no Izuru, no Mahiru, nobody except him and his own thoughts. No nurses changing his clothes and shoving food down his throat, nobody staring at him with sympathetic eyes asking him to tell them why he was acting like this, why he wasn’t eating or sleeping. Unwittingly guilting him into tearing himself apart to lay his pain bare.

Maybe he was crying as he ran. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. He just had to get away.

He wanted peace and quiet and a clear head for one fucking minute, was that too much to ask?

He was running and running and running and running, never once feeling winded. So they had done that much for him. He shook his head, slamming to a stop. He was right in front of the library. A quiet place. A place he liked to spend time in.

A place he could hide.

He walked in silently, waiting until he was inside before he collapsed to his knees, not sure whether he was crying or simply too angry to think straight.

_Hajime. What is wrong?_

_LEAVE ME ALONE._

_Hajime, you are--_

_LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, IZURU._

_I am only trying to help you._

His breaths came in heavy sobs. _I know. I know. EVERYONE is trying to help me. It’s too much. Everyone is worried about me, and I’m making them even more worried by just...existing at this point. Just running off was fucking stupid. Everyone is going to be mad, I’m going to get shoved back into a hospital and everyone isn’t going to listen anymore and--_

_Calm down. Nobody will hurt you. You need to breathe._

He knew he was being irrational. But that didn’t stop him from being drop-dead terrified. But at least he was alone here. He was alone. Nobody could hear him.

He threw his head back and screamed, letting the sound rip out of his throat. It was loud, it was cathartic, it was _freeing_.

_I’m scared, Izuru. And I don’t want to rely on you. I can’t depend on you for everything._

_You are doing your best, Hajime. Nobody can hold that against you. It is alright to be afraid. You are recovering. And you have not been depending on me._

_I feel like I have. I’m doing such a shitty job of dealing with everyone and everything._ He was on his knees on the tile floor, breathing heavily.

“I’m a fucking mess,” he mumbled, grinning bitterly.

_Let me take over--_

_NO. I need time alone. In control of my own thoughts. My own body._

_Hajime, you need help._

_I know. I know. I know. But I can’t be vulnerable like that anymore._

His tears slowly stopped and he breathed raggedly, his throat feeling hoarse. Everything just...flooded out of him, leaving him with an empty chest.

“Hajime?” He flinched at the voice.

“...Nagito?” He slowly turned around. He stood there on the entryway, his hair messily tied back. He looked...scared. Worried.

He nearly ran over. “I’m sorry. You told us to leave you alone. But...I wanted to apologize.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice was sullen and hollow. He was completely drained, tired as hell. Even if he had just woken up. He was exhausted, but he never wanted to sleep again. He considered asking him to leave. But honestly, he didn’t care anymore.

“You’re hurting,” he said, kneeling down next to him. “We pushed you too far. I’m sorry for making you talk about that last night.”

He gripped onto Nagito’s coat, swallowing a lump in his throat, letting the feeling of fabric in his hands ground him. “I told you those things because I trust you. I don’t regret it.” _I’m just so overwhelmed._

Nagito nodded slowly, running his hand through Hajime’s hair. “I know you’re afraid of help. But I think I can...try. I owe it to you.”

He didn’t resist when his head was lifted up to meet Nagito’s eyes. “How?” He was so, _so_ tired.

“You said...you had basic things taken from you.”

“Yeah,” he said weakly. “What about it?”

“Feel free to shut me down, but…”

“Just spit it out, Ko.” He was too drained to be considerate.

He took in a deep breath. “What if you tried to willingly give up something? Just for a little while? And let someone take care of you, knowing that you could take it back whenever you needed to?”

“What would that do?” He didn’t want to give up anything. He was too afraid to. “I...I can’t do that.”

“You need to be able to let go of control sometimes, Hajime, or it’ll consume you. Giving up something little can help make a more positive association with letting go. I’ll never ask anything big of you, I promise. But...little things, here and there, that you can teach yourself to acquiesce.”

It wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had. Not by a long shot. But it was a terrifying one. He didn’t want to surrender much of anything. But that was the problem everyone had directly addressed him on. His biggest current problem.

He was quiet for a while. “Who would I be giving it up to? You? And what do you want me to hand over?”

Something like relief shone in his eyes. “Really? You’d let someone like me--”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll change my mind.”

“You’re really in a mood today!” he said brightly. “I guess I’ll have to fix that, huh?”

He sighed. “What do you want me to give up, Nagito?”

Sunlight filtered in through the windows, highlighting his little freckles in the light and shooting through his hair with yellow. “Just something little, alright? I was thinking...I’d give you a bedtime. Something to make sure you were at least resting every night.”

“How would you keep me to it?” A goddamn _bedtime_. It was a fight to keep the flash of irritation down. But being annoyed was better than nothing.

“Well…” he started, tapping his chin. “I was planning that we would continue to share a bed. I would follow it too--”

“And if I broke it?”

He shrugged. “You’d be held accountable. I’m still working things out. But I really want to help you, Hajime. And...as useless as I am, I just want to make sure you recover with the rest of us. You deserve the same healing and respect as all the other Ultimates on the island.” He hesitantly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the scars on his temple. If he was in any other straits, it would have flooded him in a sea of butterflies. But not a single wing flapped in his stomach as he closed his eyes and accepted the touch. “I want to help you.”

“...fine.” He shook his head, still too numb to really deal with much of anything. “But only after I’m done operating on Mikan. That’s going to take me a while.”

“How about...11 pm, then? You’ll have plenty of time to perform the surgery and eat and help her begin her recovery.”

_You have calmed down, Hajime._

_Nagito just gave me a fucking bedtime._

_And are you going to adhere to it?_

_...yes._

_Good._

He needed to get better. Or he would keep on feeling like this--empty, except for quick flashes of anger. _Is this how Izuru lives? It’s hell._ And it was. He could barely bring himself to care about much of anything, half-dead to the world around him.

He squared his shoulders and stood up. “I have a cabin ready to sleep in. You’re free to come to it, yours isn’t fixed yet. I’ll meet you there tonight.”

He sighed deeply as he walked away. He would deal with what he had just agreed to later. Right now, he had what was hopefully his last surgery.

Finally, he was the one performing it.


	18. In Which Hajime Hinata Performs A Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikan needs that organ out of her—and well, only one person can do that job.
> 
> (TW: if surgeries make you uncomfortable, please skip past this chapter.)

Approximately two hours later, after prep was finished, Mikan Tsumiki sat quietly on the operating table, clutching at her stomach. She had only been awake for about three days, but the womb had to be taken out. Hajime had truly no idea how sepsis hadn’t killed her, or her body hadn’t entirely rejected it. But whether she could live with it or not wasn’t the question, really. It had to go, and go fast. That thing was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to poison everything else in her body. Just like Junko herself. Funny, that.

This was going to be difficult for them both. It was an invasive surgery, one that would leave her in recovery for a while. There was also the detail that Hajime had never exactly performed a hysterectomy before. Of course, in theory, he could do it. There wasn’t much he couldn’t do. But saying that he could do it and actually going through with it were two very different things.

Mikan give him a shaky smile, and took his hand in her own. “Y-you don’t need to...to worry, Hajime! I b-believe in you.” 

He was wildly nervous. Everything in the room was designed to make him panic—from the tools he was to use, the womb he had to remove, to the anesthesia in he would have to inject into her, to even the hospital gown she had donned.

Izuru had offered to take over, but Mikan was understandably terrified of him, and had specifically asked Hajime to do it. What she had done in the simulation was hitting her hard, and she wanted as few reminders of her actions as possible, at least until she started to come to terms with everything. Ibuki had forgiven her quickly and easily, but Hiyoko was still apprehensive to be around her. Forgiveness or not, Mikan still avoided them.

“I’m going to do my best,” he said, hiding his nerves. He was still on edge from that morning, and the fact that he had to operate on someone else was doing him no favors. But it needed out, right now, and there was quite literally nobody else to do it. He would just have to suck up his fear for a little while. 

“You’ll be able to get up pretty soon after, I think, but…” his face burned. “You might have to use a catheter for a day or two. It’ll take you about a month to six weeks to recover.”

“Y-you don’t need to be e-embarrassed about anything, Hajime,” she said kindly. “I’m a n-nurse, remember? This is all r-routine to me. I c-can take care of m-myself!”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled brightly, seeming unusually at ease. Well, she’s a nurse. This is her element. 

“You’re more scared than I am, s-silly.” She sat back on the table, patting the electrode that connected her to the heart monitor. “The shots were always my favorite part of s-surgeries, you know. T-they were fun to watch the a-anesthesiologist give!” He flinched, instinctively covering his neck again.

She gave him a questioning glance. “Are you alright? Are you sure you’re r-ready, Hajime?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

He sighed. This felt wrong. He looked down at Mikan and swore he saw himself when he lowered the oxygen mask with anaesthesia over her head. But it was over quickly, thank God. Of course, he still felt sick over it—that was unavoidable.

“Can you start to count down from ten for me?”

“Ten, nine, eight…” And just like that, she was already out. He clenched his fist, summoning all of his courage.

_Izuru. Talk me through this._

_Your hands know what to do. If you just let them work, you will be fine._

_It doesn’t work like that—_

_You have all the knowledge and expertise. If you just begin, it will be like you have done it a thousand times._

_How do you know? I hope to God YOU’VE never had to do this._

_I’ve performed surgeries before, Hajime. You just need to make the first incision, and you will be alright. You know what to do._

He swallowed hard, staring down at the scalpel in his hand. No time like the present.

He made the first incision. Then the next. Then the next. 

The smell was ugly, but tolerable. He was in a different frame of mind now, completely focused on getting this thing out. This must have been what those doctors felt like when they operated on him--focused, with a one-track mind. The surgery going well was the only thing in his head, and his hands moved on their own, cutting and pulling, slowly removing any attachments the vile thing had made.

And truly, it was repulsive. If there had been any doubt that it was a dead organ, it was gone. The thing was rotting, twisted up in strands of muscle fibers that had latched onto it, trying and failing to assimilate it into her body as a replacement for what she had ripped out. It looked like an ugly black smear amidst the healthiness of the rest of her body, slowly but surely sucking out the life of everything else. 

It was just as Izuru said. He knew exactly what to do, gloved hands practically moving on his own. He worked quickly and efficiently, the stains on his gloves and apron just being a simple fact, rather than a tangible reality. He wasn’t really thinking about it, he was just...doing it. 

It felt like twenty minutes at the most, but it was almost three hours later when the offending monstrosity was removed and dropped into a metal pan. He sewed her up and cleaned the stitches, every suture perfectly clean and even.

He blinked, and the gravity of what he had just done hit him like a ton of bricks. The scalpel clattered onto the table, dropped from his hand. He nearly collapsed into the folding chair, wiping at his forehead with an arm. _I did that. I just DID that. I took….I took that THING out and I was barely even thinking about it._

_That’s how they had to have felt when they were operating on me. Like it was nothing._

_I didn’t even have to think as I did it. It wasn’t Mikan I was operating on. I was just OPERATING._

He felt like shit. There was no pride in what he had just done. He had helped a friend, yeah, but...he had done what had been done to him. He couldn’t see the good of what he had done. He could only see himself, the blinding lights of the operating theatre. Feel the dizzying pain lance through every surgical scar--his spine erupting in agony that wasn’t there. 

He let out a massive breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, all the energy rushing out of his body. So that’s what using a talent he didn’t understand was like. That was the other end of surgery.

 _Are you alright, Hajime?_ Izuru had the tiniest, barest hint of concern in his voice, which meant he was absolutely beside himself with worry. 

_Not really. I’ll be okay, though. It’s over. You don’t need to be so worked up._

_You have been having a difficult day._

_Hey, I have a bedtime now. At least I know I’m going to bed in...he cast a look to the clock. ...three hours._

In bed. With Nagito. Again. Hajime hadn’t intended to sleep next to him, to share his bed. But when he had been invited and pulled down, he hadn’t resisted nearly as hard as he should have--he had wanted to stay. 

And even if Hajime and Nagito had something there, something they had admitted to wanting, he was still afraid of messing things up, of pushing too far. Sleeping in the same bed...was big. But Hajime had agreed to it. To recover. Or maybe just to be next to him. 

The dreams had remained, and he still would rather saw off his own leg than go to bed, but having someone there to comfort him had made it a thousand times more bearable. He could learn to sleep again, if someone else was there. He didn’t want to switch from depending on Izuru to depending on Nagito, but if he could coax himself into sleeping next to someone else, he could teach himself to sleep alone as well. 

“I should...wash my hands,” he muttered to himself, taking his mind off of that. He pulled off the soiled gloves, quickly disposing of them, quickly followed by the mask. The apron was dropped into a hamper--he’d get to that next. He cleaned his hands, splashed his face with water, and replaced his gloves. 

Mikan was taken to a private recovery room, where Akane waited for him. She knew how to take care of other people, quite well. He had taught her all she had to do--how to take blood pressure, check her heart rate, and check her bandaging. “Tell me when she wakes up…I’m...I’m gonna...get something to eat, or shower, or something.”

“You look like shit, Hinata!” She pounded him on the back. “But I bet you did great! I know you did!”

He nodded sullenly. “I’ll...be in the kitchen. After I clean up and eat, I’ll be back.”

He was going through the motions, eating and showering in the main building silently. Mikan was fine when she woke up. Everything had gone perfectly. She was going to be completely okay. 

He stumbled into his cabin at 10:57 pm. Komaeda looked up from the couch, closing the book he was reading. He was wearing glasses, his hair still tied back. He looked relaxed and at ease in his pajamas. He seemed to be unbothered by his missing arm, and he had replaced the bandages. That was good. 

“Welcome home, Hajime,” he said, getting up and stretching. He took off his glasses and left them on the nightstand, right next to the key and hairclip Hajime had left there (he wouldn’t take them into the operating room. They didn’t need to see any more blood.).

Hajime stepped into the bathroom to change into sweatpants. He stared at his bare chest, at the scar lines that traced along him, likening him to an anatomical diagram. 

He stared at them. They stared at him. He hated them, he really did. 

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Hajime?”

The knob was tested and slowly turned. “Are you alright?”

No use in lying. “Not really.”

“Would you like to tell me what’s troubling you?” he asked softly, hugging him with his good arm, pressing a little kiss to the top of his head. He could get used to this kind of easy affection, love being dispensed so freely. He didn’t know how to be so forthcoming with all this intimacy, but he could certainly appreciate what he was being given and return it in his own way. 

He slumped into the taller boy’s chest. “Today was rough.”

“You were staring at your scars,” he noted, leading Hajime out of the bathroom and to the bed. Nagito had made it for them, had grabbed a few extra pillows for himself. But he took up his pillows and began to take them to the couch. 

“Where’re you going with all those? You’re sleeping in the bed.” 

His cheeks flushed a peachy color, he shook his head. “I’m already imposing on you enough. I couldn’t possibly sully your bed with my presence!”

“Nagito. I want you to. Only if you're comfortable, of course…” He scratched the back of his neck, suppressing a yawn. “But...I liked sleeping with you. It was nice.” 

“Hajime…” he looked away. Picked up the pillows and put them back. “..very well. If you want me to stay with you, I guess I can satisfy my own selfish desires as well and stay with you.”

So he did want to stay next to him. He just didn’t want to impose. He took his side of the bed and laid down, curling up into a small ball. 

The bed creaked as Nagito sat down next to him after flipping off the overhead light. A small lamp was left on. “Why were you looking at all those scars like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like they’re ugly.”

He curled even tighter into himself, hiding what he could. But he knew there was a massive one on his back, and several little lines on the back of his neck. “They are ugly,” he said softly. “I hate them.”

They were constant reminders of what he had signed up for. By now, he could remember at least one thing of every surgery, every scar gouged into him like his body was a chalkboard. 

“I think they’re lovely, Hajime.” He traced a finger up his spine, causing Hajime to jolt. Nagito chuckled lightly. “Izuru did the same thing.” 

“Nagito…”

A hand, urging him to turn over. “Let me see you, Hajime. Scars and all.” 

“No.”

His bed shifted as Nagito sat up and leaned over him. “I think you’re beautiful. Captivating. Even with all those scars.” He lowered his head and pressed a shaky kiss to the scars on his neck, then the one on his back. “Let me see them. Please?”

“Why? So you can kiss them better?” He couldn’t deny that the touch was soothing. That the kisses did make him feel better. But those weren’t the words he said. 

“Maybe.” His reply was quiet and mischievous, and it was enough for Hajime to turn over onto his back.

“Please tell me if I make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly, shifting and placing himself on top of Hajime. His eyes glowed soft in the lamplight, his hair and skin cast an apricot shade that suited him quite well. “Is this alright? May I continue?”

He nodded. 

Nagito leaned down and pressed a kiss on his lips, calm and gentle. “First things first, you know.” He trailed a line of them up across his face, to the surgery scars on his temple. “This is your crown, you know,” he mumbled softly. “Your power. Your talent. Your hope. Even if it was forced on you, you made it your own.”

 _My power. My talent. ...my hope._ He could only clumsily repeat what Nagito was saying in his mind, already too stunned by the contact to say much of anything. 

Down his neck, the little scar where all those needles had pricked him was covered with an openmouthed kiss. Then a small bite. Hajime couldn’t bite back the gasp it elicited.

“I really do think you’re beautiful, Hajime,” he mused playfully, tracing the marks on his chest with a finger. Every touch was followed by a kiss or gentle flick, and it was doing _something_ to him. 

“Nagito…”

“Hmm?”

“Why?” 

He had reached Hajime’s stomach, running his hands and mouth along those ugly, ropy scars that had been just as ugly as sutures. 

He looked up, staring him dead in the eyes. “Everything about you is a good thing. I can’t bear to see you hurt anymore, you know,” he sighed. “It sounds hypocritical coming from me, I know, but…” he took Hajime’s hand and pressed a tiny kiss to the inside of his wrist. “You want to see me love me. I want to see you love you.”

“Are you asking me to make another deal with you?”

His eyes glimmered. “Learn to love yourself with me, Hajime Hinata.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY KOMAEDA 
> 
> -fen <3


	19. Lamplight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime is getting tired of talking.

“I—“ he laid back, breathing heavily. _Do I love myself?_ He broke eye contact and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t hate himself, and he didn’t hate Izuru either. But he didn’t really know if he actually...loved himself.

Hajime was hard on himself. Very hard. Unfairly hard, if he was honest. But he had to keep himself on top of himself, or he’d break down. He knew he was always close to it, at this point. Izuru was always nearby, always checking in. He was ignoring his own body’s needs, getting angry when people showed they cared.

_Mahiru. I owe her an apology. A big one._

“You’re pushing and pushing and pushing yourself.” A line was traced down his arm. “More and more things are piling up. What you did for Mikan was admirable, truly. But you should have called a surgeon—not because you’re incapable, of course! But because it scared you to do that. It hurt you.”

He sighed, and Nagito’s hand meandered his way over his heart, pressing down. “You’re sacrificing yourself for the benefit of everyone else. But you’re crushing your own hope, your chance at recovery.”

“You’ve only been awake two days—“

“Everyone has told me what’s been going on and asked me to talk to you. While you were at the library, Mahiru told everyone what happened. And asked me to speak with you.”

“I need to apologize to her—“ He sat up, ready to go find her. She was probably still awake.

 _“Wait.”_ It wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t a question. It was a command. Nagito sat up beside him, his grip firm on Hajime’s wrist. 

“You’re at your limit and everyone can see it.”

“I’m doing my best.” It was a pathetic protest, the defeat pouring out of him in waves. 

“I know. But you’re pushing yourself too far. Trying to save everyone all at once will only hurt you.”

“I did it before. I got us out. I woke all of you up.”

Nagito sighed. “Come here,” he mumbled, pulling Hajime into his lap. His eyes were wet. “You got us out. We owe you our lives. You can stop giving sometimes, you know. You’re allowed to take, too.”

“The last time I took something or asked for help, it blew up in my face. You can see what I look like. That’s what happened when I tried to take for myself.”

Looping the stump around his waist, Nagito tugged him close. “That will never happen again. All of those monsters are gone, and they’ll never be able to reach you here anyway. And even if someone could get to you…”

He kissed him again, the taste salty. Nagito was crying. So was he. It was silent, the tears being wiped off his face. “We would protect you with our lives, Hajime. You have done and have been doing so much for us that we don’t deserve.”

They were chest-to-chest, eye-to-eye. Nagito chuckled and smiled weakly, something warm in his eyes. “You are our _hope._ You have done so much for us.”

Hajime tried to stop the tears, but they kept flowing silently. “I’m so tired,” he hiccuped. “I’m _so_ tired and I can’t sleep. And you guys...you’re hurting, too. I just...I just want to make it better.”

“You can’t help anyone when you’re about to collapse. You’re running yourself into the ground. That’s why I...asked this of you. I want to take care of you.”

“But you’ve barely gotten up. I haven’t made your arm yet—“

“One thing at a time, love,” he said, cupping his chin and softly lifting Hajime’s head to meet his eyes. “Everyone wants you to take a break for a few days. Sonia and Akane will nurse Mikan. We can keep building. You can rest. Everything will be okay.”

_“You need to rest, Hinata. Recover, so we can keep working on you.”_

Rest meant being forcibly bedridden, rest meant sleep, rest meant more operations were coming—

Nagito could see the shift in his face. His expression changed, flashing from worry to some sort of serious, but kind determination. “Hajime. Stay with me. Take a deep breath. Tell me five things you can see.”

He did as he was told, fisting his hands in Nagito’s shirt to keep himself grounded. “There’s...there’s you. There’s a lamp on the table. Your key, and your glasses, and Chiaki’s hair clip. It’s all there.”

“Good. You’re doing so well,” he mumbled, hugging him close. “You’re safe, you’re with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or the hope inside of you.”

“Are you going to ask me to go to sleep?” he asked wearily. Tired, but present. Here in the now. 

“Yes.” They lowered back onto the bed, Hajime’s head on Nagito’s chest again. “I want you to heal. This is how we start.”

“O-okay.”

“Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Goodnight, Nagito. Thank you.”

He hummed happily, closing his eyes.

Hajime stared at the mirror across the room as Nagito’s breathing evened out. 

One red eye. 

One green eye. 

Still neither quite his.

He wanted to get better. He wanted to look in the mirror and see himself. He wanted to be able to disentangle himself from that hair Makoto had cut off and the miles of IV lines whose pricks were still buried deep in his body. There were no more saline and sedatives running his veins clear instead of pink. 

_You will get better._

_Izuru. Am I being selfish if I stop? If I...rest?_

_Not at all. You have overworked yourself. You need a time of recovery. I was planning to take matters in my own hands if things did not change._

_It’s been that bad, huh?_

_You must not take all their cares onto yourself. You are healing. Putting stress on wounds makes them tear. There is no shame in letting others bear their own loads, and letting them help you bear yours. That is what you have been doing. Let it be done for you._

_You know why I can’t do that, Izuru._

_I know why you can and will do it. You trust these people, correct?_

_I do. But I’m scared._

_I know, Hajime._

It seemed all Hajime was able to be, anymore, was scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads-up! probably no chapter tomorrow, i have a final :/  
> as always, I love you!! -fen <3


	20. Reflective.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime hits his breaking point.  
> (T/W: minor s/h)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE GOES OUT TO YOU, YEETBIXED IF YOU’RE READING THIS I LOVE YOU
> 
> THIS ONE ALSO GOES OUT TO KAI!!! YOU KNOW WHY <3333
> 
> as for everyone else!!!! I love you too!!!!! you are so amazing and wonderful and you are SO nice to me!!! i would definitely have given up by now if not for all of you!!

Hajime did eventually fall asleep, exhaustion destroying him and dragging him down, wrapping around him like tangles of black hair.

As always, the dreams came. They always came. He wished they would blur together and let him forget. But they persisted with perfect clarity, every prick of the needle and rustle of fabric against his skin accounted for in his memory. Every casual monstrosity would stay burnt into his mind, hovering menacingly every time he dared so much as try and breathe easily. The nurse was there, he was sure. Just out of his peripheral vision. Ready to test out a new way to take what little independence he had, calling him affectionate names and patting his head all the while.

If the dreams went on for much longer, if she didn’t leave his head soon, Hajime was sure he was going to go crazy. If he kept going to sleep and waking up under the knife or left in her cold, manicured hands, he’d have to find something drastic. 

When he woke up his eyes were tearstained and red, his stomach tied into furious knots, hands fisted in Nagito’s shirt and the quilt. Nagito was still asleep, but sunlight leaked in from the blinds. Carefully, as to not wake him up, he stumbled to the bathroom, his legs not feeling like they belonged to him. Nothing felt like it belonged to him. Even now, almost six weeks after he had awakened,  _ years  _ after he had escaped (not that he remembered it, not that it was him), and he could still barely register that he was a human being, if he was honest with himself. Someone who was allowed to make his own decisions and take care of himself. 

He stared into the mirror. The reflection wasn’t him. 

Red eye. Green eye. Hair not quite the right shade of brown, that was growing too quickly. A body that was too strong but getting too thin. Everything was just a little  _ off _ , enough to render him unrecognizable. 

_ “Shit.”  _ He felt like such utter  _ shit.  _ The days were beginning to run together. Everyone was telling him the same things. Every night he relived the same horrors when he wasn’t allowed to rely on Izuru. And when he could? It was mostly terror of a different variety. A different kind of powerless. 

His fist balled, almost on its own.

_ “That’s not me. That’s not me!” _

_ “That’s who you are! You’re Izuru Kamukura!”  _

Her voice rocketed around in his head like a ping-pong ball, sickly sweet and dripping with sugary poison. His breathing picked up, Izuru completely drowned out by  _ her her her her her her her her her her her her her her her her-- _

“I’m not him. I’m  _ not!”  _ He was crying again. He was  _ always  _ crying.  _ Why can’t I STOP? Why can’t I get a fucking GRIP?  _ He grabbed the edge of the sink so hard that it  _ cracked  _ in his hands, bits of ceramic tearing at his palms. 

_ “That’s who you are!”  _

His hands were already bleeding. There were phantom injection bruises in his elbows, his wrists, his hands, his neck. He drew back his hand, balling a throbbing fist.

The mirror shattered under the blow, glass ripping and tearing and embedding in his skin as he attacked the reflection that  _ wasn’t him _ . The wall behind it cracked, plaster falling in a little shower of white. 

The shards still showed someone that wasn’t him. A splintered pair of mismatched eyes. 

Someone was scrabbling at the doorknob. “Hajime?  _ Hajime?!” _

He dropped to his knees, staring blankly at his fist. Blood bubbled from his fist, shards of mirror buried into flesh. 

_ Hajime. HAJIME. What did you do? _

He didn’t hear Izuru. Or Nagito. Or anyone, really. The blood dripped down his arm. 

He was retreating in, and in, and in. Where it was quiet and safe and he didn’t have to think. Where he could rest. Rest like he was told to. He could maybe even sleep, where nobody could bother him and he didn’t have to dream. 

_ HAJIME. YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO ME. TELL ME WHAT YOU DID.  _

_ ANSWER ME, HAJIME. _

He wasn’t listening. It was like his ears and his mind had been stuffed full of cotton. He didn’t react when Nagito burst in, terrified, and immediately grabbed the phone and called Makoto, pressing it between his shoulder and ear and squatting in front of him, barely escaping the glass with socked feet. He gently shook Hajime’s shoulder, but the panic on his face and in his voice was heavily mismatched to the calmness of his body.

“He...he shattered the  _ mirror. _ ..and he hurt his hand badly. He’s not answering me when I talk to him! Mikan is still recovering, and...and...I’m so useless that I don’t know what to do, and I only have one hand, I can’t get the glass out…”

Peko was frantically called next to help tend to Hajime, but he didn’t notice or particularly care when she carefully opened his hand and began to tweeze away shards of glass. 

He was just going to rest.

Just like he was told.  __

\----

Izuru came to in absolute agony. He was sitting on the bed, his hand pulled out in front of him. 

There were _shards of_ _glass_ in his hand and wrist, and slivers of ceramic in the other. And even just a quick look at the bathroom revealed that it was _destroyed._ The sink had been demolished, and the mirror lay in pieces all over the floor. Pekoyama was kneeling in front of him, carefully removing whatever she could. He touched his free hand to his face and found it wet. 

_ So that’s what he did.  _

“What happened?”

Peko looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. “Hinata?”

Nagito rushed over, phone to his ear. “Hajime?” All Izuru had to do was give him a look. “Oh. Hello, Izuru.”

“What happened?” He didn’t like repeating himself, but this was paramount.

“I...I don’t know. I’m sorry that I’m so worthless that I couldn’t help--”

“Nagito. Tell me what you know.”

He sighed, and knelt down next to Izuru. “He woke up before me, and I assume he went into the bathroom. I woke up to him…yelling, and then the mirror shattered. When I got in...he was just...kneeling there, in the mess. He wouldn’t answer me. I...I called Makoto, and then Peko. He will be coming with a therapist. He’s still on the phone.”

“I am assuming he punched the mirror, given the amount of glass in your knuckles,” Pekoyama cut in evenly, carefully plucking bits of bloodied glass from his hand. “I apologize if this hurts--he certainly did a number on your fist.”

It did hurt. But Izuru had been made to withstand pain far deeper than this.

“Make sure they are cleaned well. Our wounds infect easily.”

She nodded, pulling up her sleeve to keep it clean. “My first priority is getting the shards out. Then I will clean you up.” There was a small pile of pink-smeared glass in the trash can that was quickly growing as Pekoyama worked.

“Let me speak to Makoto.” He took a steadying breath. He hated Makoto for what he did, or the closest thing Izuru had to hate. But it was potentially Hajime’s life, surely his mental well-being, versus Izuru’s blind resentment against a man he was sure was just trying to help. Even if he had destroyed him. 

“A-alright.”

He took the phone in his free hand, ready for an unpleasant conversation. “Naegi.”

“Hajime? Hajime, is that--”

“No.” His voice was flat and cold. 

“O-oh...hello, Kamukura.”

His grip on the phone was tight. If he squeezed any harder, it would crack. “Send in someone who knows what they are doing.” 

“I’m doing the best I can—“

“Do better. He needs help. You know what happened with the first doctor that came in.” Time that neither he nor Hajime could account for. All Izuru remembered was being blanketed by a haze of utter terror, Hajime inadvertently shoving him down so he didn’t come to see what was the matter. Hajime protected him while he was trying to protect himself. 

“I…” 

“No excuses. I expect your best.” Naegi wouldn’t get a single bit of slack from Izuru. He would have to earn leniency, and that could easily take him years. He would honestly have preferred to deal with Togami over Naegi, for as callous and hateful as he could be, at least he hadn’t  _ cut his hair.  _

The sigh over the line was crackly. “I know you do. I owe it to you both. I’m coming as quickly as I can, but people are starting to suspect that something is off with how often I’ve called all of you or come by. And it’ll be difficult to find someone willing to come other than Ito, and the therapist who they’ve been calling lives in America. I can’t get him here. Besides, I don’t want too many people knowing that you guys are...here.”

He craned his neck back, staring at the ceiling. “Then come do it yourself, Naegi. He trusts you and will listen to you. We will take our own measures, but you must take yours, as well.”

He cast a quick look at Nagito, then Pekoyama. They were quiet, him listening as best he could and her completely focused on his hand. The majority of the glass was out, but the shards buried in his knuckles were proving to be difficult.

He moved the phone from his ear. “Would you like me to make a fist, so they are more accessible?”

She nodded, adjusting her glasses. “If it isn’t too painful, yes. I will disinfect afterwards.”

He fisted his hand slowly, the blood oozing out in a small trickle of pink. Putting the phone back to his ear, he kept talking. “You know I would not speak to you if this was not important.”

“Yeah. I did want to apol—“

“This is not the time. This is not about you and me. This is about him. Get here, and  _ help him. _ Only you can get through to him. I expect to be seeing you soon.”

“Kamuk—“

Izuru ended the call, and handed the phone back to Nagito. He looked devastated, his eyes red from crying. “You did what you could. Do not blame yourself for this.”

“But I could have—“

Izuru went to put a hand on his shoulder, then retreated. Both of his hands were bloody, and he had a white shirt on. “He refuses to listen to even me. I may...dislike...Naegi, but I predict that only he is able to make him understand.”

To say that he held a grudge would be understating the matter. All Izuru had to his name then, really, was how he looked, a hairclip, a journal, and a key. He had established the identity he could build in those things. He turned the things the doctors had done to him into his own trophies, proof that he had triumphed over them. And Makoto Naegi had lopped it off in twenty minutes with a cheap pair of scissors.

But aside from that, it had taken him years to make that reality. Years that Hajime didn’t have. Those doctors and Hope’s Peak committee members had been far harsher to him, playing with his emotions to their own gain. Exploiting the worthlessness he felt—the worthlessness Izuru knew Hajime was desperately trying to fight. 

_ You were never nothing, Hajime.  _ He couldn’t hear Izuru—he had tucked himself in deeply, somewhere small and quiet and hidden. 

_ This is your rest, then. Come back only when you are ready. I will handle things for you. _

“I’m too useless to help,” Nagito mumbled. “I don’t want to make this about me. It was never about me, after all, but...I can’t help but feel guilty. I could have done  _ something _ better.”

Pekoyama chose to stay quiet, now disinfecting and bandaging Izuru’s hands. The peroxide stung and bubbled, the fizzy pops breaking the silence.

“You have no blame for what he did. He is struggling. As unfortunate as it is, this is how he has dealt with it.”

Hurting himself. Taking on the burdens of others to shove aside his own. Proving that he was useful, that he was worth something, that he wasn’t  _ normal  _ and could handle whatever life threw at him. It seemed like he couldn’t stop and think straight anymore. His mind was haunted by those doctors,  _ that nurse.  _

He wondered if that woman knew that she had done just as much damage as the rest of the doctors combined. Hajime hated and was afraid of those men and women who had operated so coldly and mercilessly on him, but he was truly, deeply  _ terrified  _ of her in a way that Izuru could taste on his tongue.

He was privy to how Hajime dreamed, how often she appeared. In-between the doctors and faculty and every operation, she had been their primary caretaker. A supplementary parent of sorts, a shoddy replacement. But there was a stark difference in how she had treated Hajime and Izuru.

Hajime had been someone small and fragile, a scared puppy to coddle and smother. Even if he flinched away from her, she had happily continued on, seemingly reveling in her power over someone who was, for all intents and purposes, powerless. She took what little traces of independence he had left and dangled them over his head, reducing him to nothing for nothing more than a triumphant feeling.

The doctors may have been controlling his every move, but she held the puppet strings for them, putting food into his mouth and stripping him down when he wasn’t allowed or able to move on his own. She had possessed basically complete power over him. And it had broken him just as much as any surgery had.

But she had been distant and wary of Izuru. It seemed she had quickly realized that he wouldn’t fold under the motherly sentiments, wouldn’t warm up to her no matter what she tried. So she had been professional and efficient with him, traces of affection remaining, but they were few and far in between. She had shown him some semblance of respect and granted him degrees of independence, when Hajime had been given nothing.

Izuru was going to find her someday, if she was still alive. Maybe he’d give her a taste of what he had done to Hajime. Revenge was a base, tasteless thing. But perhaps he would indulge, just for how the woman had left Hajime in such a state of ruination.

“I’m finished,” Peko said, standing up. Izuru inspected her handiwork. She had done a clean job, his hands and wrists wrapped tightly in white. He couldn’t exactly bend his fingers, but, then again, his knuckles were shredded. 

He stood. This was where social norms dictated he thanked her. Something he didn’t have much experience with. But it was his job to atone to these people, for what he had put them through. “...thank you, Pekoyama.” 

She nodded, standing up. She grabbed her sword bag from beside the door and began to make her exit. “Keep them clean, Kamukura. Either I or Mikan will check on them.”

“Very well.”

As she left, he turned to Nagito, immediately enclosing him in a close hug, kissing his forehead. “I am sorry you had to see that. It must be difficult for you.” He knew Hajime wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, especially not Nagito. This would devastate him when he came back. But he did have to face the consequences of his actions. However, right now, Izuru would comfort him.

He clung to Izuru, burying his fists in his shirt. “Don’t waste time worrying about me. He should be your first priority.”

He rubbed circles into Nagito’s back, silently soothing him. “I cannot talk to him right now. He has retreated deep. He will not respond; he needs to be left alone. Let me take care of the one right in front of me. You need attention, too.”

“Y-you’re hurt,” he protested, pushing at his chest. “You’re not him, but you still need to  _ rest.  _ You’re in pain, you need to  _ eat.” _

“Shh. I am going to be just fine. You and I have gone through worse.” He would eat--he was hungry. Very hungry. But Nagito’s comfort came first. 

They sat down together on a chair, Izuru holding Nagito close. They fit together like pieces in a puzzle, his hand fitting into the crook of the other boy’s hip like the groove was made for his palm.

“Is he going to be alright?” 

Izuru stuck little kisses along his jaw, comforting him as best he could. Nagito knew love through physical affection, and so he gave it freely, little pecks placed all over.

Hajime wasn’t well. Not right now. And perhaps not for a little while. But that was what Izuru was here for now. His penance, his reward for surviving the Neo World Program that he destroyed. He could finally protect something instead of destroying it. And he would give his life to do so.

“I am going to do everything in my power to make sure he is.”


	21. Role Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the beach.

They sat at the beach for a while. The waves crashed on wet sand, exhaustion weighing Izuru down. He was _ tired,  _ resting his head on Nagito’s lap. He rubbed Izuru’s shoulder absently, staring off into the sea.

“This is where I met him, you know.” When he looked up, Nagito’s gaze was distant. “After Usami had just told us we were to live together on the island, he passed out. I stayed behind to make sure he was alright.”

“Was he?” Izuru hadn’t seen the sea in years, much less an unpolluted, pristine coast like the one he laid on now. A seagull landed next to them, peering curiously at the two fully dressed men on the beach. He stared back. 

Surprisingly, the seagull stood its ground.

“As alright as he was ever going to be. He was much of the same in the simulation. He took the lead. Tried to help everyone as best he could. He’s been shouldering everyone else’s burdens for as long as I’ve known him. That hope in him, in his actions, was glorious to watch, really! I admired him from the very start!”

He sighed, his eyes heavy-lidded. “He is a better man than I ever could be. But he takes on far too much and says far too little.”

“The same could be said of you, Izuru.” The waves lapped at their feet, foam tickling at him. The sand was gritty against his legs, rough against smooth skin. The sea breeze was cool against his face, soothing his sunburnt nose and cheeks. “You both shoulder heavy burdens and refuse to say a word about it.”

“I was created to shoulder heavy burdens. He was not.”

“That doesn’t mean you  _ should.  _ You’re wonderful and the closest to perfect the world has ever seen and the world’s hope, but you’re human, too.” 

Human. That word, that identity. It had never quite belonged to him, though he had grasped for it like a starving man straining for the fruit tree. He had never been sure if he had reached it or not. Junko had made sure of it.

“Am I human, Nagito?” he asked sleepily, the rhythmic crashing of the ocean threatening to have him drift off. He was so,  _ so  _ tired. 

Their eyes met, something mournful in Nagito’s. He sighed and took off his jacket, draping it over Izuru.

“Yes, love. No matter the circumstances of your creation or how people treat you, you are just as human as any of us.” He leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, his lips soft against the sunburn. “You don’t feel human, do you? And neither does he.”

His fingers pressed over the tiny scar on Izuru’s neck. Almost invisible, if you didn’t know what to look for. “No. I am unsure if I have ever felt truly  _ human _ . And I doubt he has had any sense of humanity or dignity since he signed his body away.”

The denim of Nagito’s jeans was rough against his head. But he would have preferred to rest here over most anywhere else. It was certainly preferable to any other laps he had been yanked into. Better rough denim than bare thighs and the rustle of a pleated skirt. Better slender fingers carding through his hair than red-hot nails that always scratched at his scalp. Better a mouth that tasted like cheap chapstick than bubblegum and artificial strawberry and left behind lipstick prints and a sickly rainbow of bruising. 

Junko had been his nurse, in a way, he supposed. A wildly affectionate and poisonous woman, warping them both, breaking them to bottle-blonde wills. Different touches, different indignities, different types of pain, but the result was the same for them both. Waking up in different beds, things shoved down their throats. Effectively being their pet.

That much hadn’t changed, even if the leash had changed hands. But Junko had died. Izuru had been gifted years of freedom. He had the time to rebuild himself, make himself into something, some _ one  _ independent of Enoshima. 

Hajime had been shoved down so deep that he may have very well ceased to exist—right when the indignation was at its highest, when he was too weak to fight and had been for months. He had forgotten everything in the simulation, gained more burdens, more pain there, and was slowly but surely forced to recall every monstrous thing done to him until he was back to where he was before Kamukura had woken up from that pod. 

“Hajime went through much, and had no time to process it until he began to remember it recently. He is...by nature, independent. You know this.”

Nagito nodded, the breeze blowing his hair into an even bigger mess. Provided Izuru could pick up a brush later, he’d help fix it for him. “Hajime was always one to do things on his own. Maybe just...to prove that he could.”

And then he was forcibly made reliant. Whenever Hajime thought about it, the shame and embarrassment would flood him, something so deep and painful that it affected Izuru as well. 

Izuru had never been taught shame, but he knew being flustered. He knew some version of humiliation, the way he quietly dealt with degradation. He would never feel it as heavily as Hajime, never know quite how badly that being constricted and manhandled had broken  _ him.  _

Well. He had some ideas. Undamaged people didn’t lock their doors and windows just to sleep. Undamaged people didn’t only allow two, maybe three people to touch him. Peko had only gotten a pass since she was providing medical assistance. Nagito had always been permitted to touch him. Sonia could lay a hand on him, for Hajime’s trust in her.

Everyone else would likely be met with a flinch or a shove if they touched him. 

_ “You can’t just SHOVE me back, Zuzu!” Her voice was grating on his ears as he began to walk for the door. He wouldn’t spend any more time with her than he absolutely had to. It was an escape, yes. But it was a welcome one. He would not tolerate her whims anymore. Komaeda waited outside, as he always did. Just like he was told. He would not place Komaeda on her warpath, especially not when the prize she scrambled after always seemed to be Izuru himself. _

_ Her hand circled around his wrist, digging into the flesh. “We only just started playing!” she pouted, pulling him away from the exit. “You can’t go now!”  _

_ “Let go of me.” _

_ “Absolutely not. We’re going to have fun!” _

_ His back hit the couch as he was shoved down. She was heavy on his lap, her hands pressing into his hips, her eyes betraying her intentions to mark her territory. “Junko. No.”  _

_ “Don’t be a BABY, sweet cheeks!” _

He shoved himself out of the memory, focusing on the roughness of Nagito’s pants, the smell of the salt in the air, the seagull that was now making a meal of his pant leg.

“He has gone through hell,” Izuru said, his eyes trained on the horizon. If he was at the cabin, he would already be asleep. Old habits die hard, however, so he remained awake. “He is only just beginning to deal with it. It makes sense that he reacted like this.” A sad sort of sense. Hajime had told him he barely recognized himself in the mirror. Souda had made it clear that he didn’t want to be Izuru.

“And you’re going to put the burden of helping him on Makoto?”

The air was cool in his lungs. “The beginning steps. He trusts Naegi in a different way from which he trusts you, or me, or anyone else here. He sees him as a liberator. He will listen if he speaks.”

That is, if he was back by then. He predicted Hajime would be gone for at least three days, but he had no way of knowing when he would feel safe to return. Face what he had done.

“I hope so.” 

“I know so.”

“You can sleep, Izuru,” Nagito mumbled distantly. “You’re exhausted.”

“After we eat.” He still hadn’t done that yet, hunger still clawing at him.

“I brought a cooler.”

He reached behind them, pulling out two freezy pops. Nagito had adored them in the past, always searching for them when they scavenged for food. Blue for Izuru, pink for himself. It was a peaceful moment as they ate, a snippet of childhood that neither of them had experienced coming to them now. It was calm and silent, everyone away on their own business or simply letting them be.

He reached back and pulled two cans from the cooler. “I don’t think you’ve ever had a soda, unless the doctors gave you one. They were basically impossible to find back then.”

Before long, Nagito frowned. “I hate to ask, but could you—“ Izuru popped the tab for him and handed the drink back, taking an experimental sip of his own. It was sweet and cold, but...

“Why does it bite at my mouth?” It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but it was certainly unexpected. 

He liked it.

He chuckled, taking a sip of his own. “It’s carbonated. Bubbly.”

Izuru let out a breath, the taste coating his mouth. His tongue was blue. “I hope you are feeling better.”

The kiss left his tongue purple and sweet. “I am. Thank you for staying with me. Truly, I don’t—“ he stopped himself. “Thank you.”

He sighed at Izuru’s questioning glance. “Hajime asked me...to try and...deprecate myself less.” He rubbed his eye. “If he is to recover, I want to recover, too. He can’t be dragged down by me!”

“And you deserve recovery as well, Nagito,” he said, tracing a pattern in his jeans. “Not for me, not for Hajime. For you. I know...I know it is difficult to see yourself in a different way than what you have taught yourself. But if I can learn love, you can get better.”

Nagito looked down at him, flushed a peachy color that showed the little freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheekbones.

Truly, he was the most beautiful person Izuru had ever met.

“I promised him I would do my best. I’ll promise you the same.”

Izuru didn’t smile, ever. But he sat up and kissed his beloved softly. “I will help you, as you helped me.”

“You taste like freezy pop,” he murmured lightly, smiling into the kiss. “You should eat them more often.”

“Only the blue ones.” 

They walked back in an easy, familiar silence. Nagito held the cooler in his hand, still a little unsteady. He was now heavier on one side, after all, and the cooler was a significant enough weight to make him unbalanced.

Izuru could barely bend his fingers. Even the soda can had been a challenge. The bandaging was strained, flashes of pink beginning to bleed through. They would have to be changed before he slept. But first. A shower. A sandwich, maybe.

A journal rested on the table when he walked in, a sticky note on top of it. Nagito set down the cooler and stepped into the shower himself, the mirror and sink having been cleaned up before they went outside.

_ Izuru. I know something is going to happen to me, or I’m going to do something I regret. I’m at my limit. But you don’t really know what happened, aside from what I’ve dreamed. And you deserve to know how you were made.  _

_ Don’t tell anyone about the nurse or what she did. Please.  _

_ -Hajime. _

Izuru picked up the journal, hefting it in his hands. He must have done this last night or this morning, it going unnoticed in all the ruckus of broken glass and bloody knuckles.

He opened the cover, straining to bend his fingers.

_ Journal—Hajime Hinata.  _

His breath hitched. He read quickly and silently, food and shower left to the wayside. This was more important. 

_ Day seventeen. _

_ I hate her. I hate her so much. I can barely talk without being surrounded. And it’s not like I can ask anyone for help. It’s just HER. When I’m not under, she’s taking care of me. Suffocating me, more like. _

_ She hasn’t even told me her name.  _

_ She scares me, a lot. _

_ And the thing is, that’s not even my biggest problem. I’m honestly just lonely. I was lonely before, but it’s different now. I don’t even have the option to talk to anybody. I can’t call my mom and dad, I can’t text Chiaki or any of my friends from my old school. I’m just confined to an empty room, locked in here until it’s time to work on me and then I’m shoved back in the instant they’re done with me. _

_ I’m just alone. Stuck by myself, coddled by a woman in a yellow dress and apron who talks at me instead of TO me. I’m just by myself. Stuck underground all the time.  _

_ The needles in my arm hurt. I can barely use my left arm. That’s why my handwriting is so shit--I can’t balance the book. And I can’t sit comfortably, knowing that people are watching.  _

_ I found a camera in my bathroom. They’re watching me. I smashed it, and when they figure it out I’m going to pay out of my ass for it. It can’t be long before they figure it out. Really. But honestly, it’s worth whatever punishment they level at me. But I’m not really sleeping any easier knowing that people were watching me bathe.  _

_ People were watching me bathe.  _

_ I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a camera in here, too. But I have no idea where it is, and it’s really difficult to move around and look for things when I’m attached to this thing. And it’s definitely out of reach, too. This room is pretty big, and the ceilings are high. I can’t reach much of anything. Especially not when I’m too tired to do anything more than go to the bathroom.  _

_ Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have chickened out and gone home.  _

_ No.  _

_ I was already mocked when I told them I was transferring to Hope’s Peak. Especially since they all KNOW I’m not rich. I got called a lot of things, a fucking idiot being the nicest of it. Maybe they were right. But I wouldn’t have been able to face them if I came back empty-handed. It would’ve gotten way worse. But when this is done, I won’t even have to go back--money isn’t a problem anymore. I’ll be in the main course; their tuition is a breeze.  _

_ My parents paid so much money for me to come here. They had no idea that they were financing my surgery. But after this, they won’t have to pay for much of anything.  _

_ They’re coming. I can hear them.  _

His handwriting had stopped them, a scrawl of pencil lead marking the page. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t ended well.

_ Day seventeen, part two. _

_ I got yelled at. But it was worse when she tried to comfort me afterward.  _

Nothing else. He ran a hand through his hair. Too short. Too light. Not his. But that was okay. More okay than Hajime was, anyway. 

His head cradled in his hands, he felt a headache forming. 

This was going to be a long read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!! I don’t have much to say today!! you are loved!!! - fen<3


	22. Listless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuru ruminates on several things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want you to guess how many jojo songs I write this fic to
> 
> you are loved and wanted, go drink some water!!! 
> 
> -fen <3

_ Day 25. _

The words were barely legible, a far departure from his usual efficient, slanting print.

_ They operated on my back. I can’t move. Even writing this hurts. I mean, they told me not to write tonight. That I needed to go to bed or I wouldn’t recover fast enough. But I haven’t been fed yet, and the drip is just saline. _

_ I woke up by myself about 15-ish minutes ago. They changed my clothes again, to this weird gown that’s completely open in the back. It’s basically a sheet with sleeves and a little tie at the neck. If anything, it’s worse than the one I had before. At least that one COVERED me. This one leaves everything out, and if I could stand up, it’d probably only fall to my thighs. It’s embarrassing, but at least I’m alone and not high—well, not THAT high. _

_ That’s a relatively new feeling. I mean, I have no idea what time it is. I could be forced to swallow down something in five minutes or five hours. It could be three in the morning or three in the afternoon—I haven’t seen a clock in what I’m assuming is 25 days. But I’m probably wrong about the number, if I’m being honest. Bedtime is 8pm and they give me dinner at 7:30, but who’s to say that it’s actually 7:30 when I eat. I have no windows, no clocks, no nothing. I judge the days by comings and goings of the nurse and the doctors and the scientists and the occasional committee member. _

_ Tengen shows up sometimes, but never long enough for it to matter. He doesn’t really talk to me, anyway. Just a passing hello, asking me if I’m doing okay. He used to do more, then I guessed he realized I was too out of it most of the time to actually answer him.  _

_ This is the most lucid I’ve been in a couple days. I mean, I always have a few clear hours when I write, but this is...clearer. I can actually feel the pain in my back for more than five minutes. Which begs the question, how much pain am I ACTUALLY in? _

_ When I was still coming out of it, I heard the doctor say that this one was gonna leave a nasty scar, all the way down my back. _

_ I don’t want to be all scarred up, but it’s inevitable, I guess. My chest already looks like a doctor’s chart. What’s a few more, at this point? It’s not like anyone will see them.  _

Izuru leaned back, bandaged fingers brushing against the beginnings of said scar. So these were the start of answers to every unsaid question, every unknown on his body.

Forget the nap—he needed to talk to everyone else on the island. His former colleagues. Learn how to coexist with them, when he had vehemently avoided them for years and years. Begin to perhaps find some sort of penance for what he had done to them.

When Enoshima had been slaughtered, he was suddenly at the top of their pecking order as her admitted favorite and most powerful of the Despairs. But he gave his direction through Komaeda, leaving them lists and clues and things to find and destroy when they got there. He was to be left alone—and they were happy to wreak havoc without him breathing down their necks. 

Besides, Nagito had said they were all of the persuasion that he had...desecrated Enoshima’s body. He wouldn’t put it past Souda to be the one who started the rumor, even if the very  _ thought  _ of it made his fists ball and his body edge into fight-or-flight. 

  
  


_ Breathe.  _ **_Breathe_ ** _ , Izuru.  _ He forced his eyes open, staring at the page before him. Reminding himself where he was—that it was the middle of the afternoon on an island far from where she rotted. That every remaining part of her had been incinerated or crushed under his shoe. All that proved she had ever touched him were teeth marks on his shoulder that could easily be hidden. That they had stayed hidden under the suit jacket and shirt he now wore. Donning his old armor was comforting, in a way. 

He carefully closed the book. The shower was still running, Nagito’s soft singing still dancing just underneath the sound. His voice was pleasant and soft, the natural rasp of it giving him a certain timbre that made Izuru want to stop and listen. He would sing lullabies when Izuru got sick, whispering soft lyrics until he fell asleep in a feverish delusion of an angel caring for him. 

Izuru had fallen ill more often than he’d ever admitted to. Due to the doctors’ endless meddling, everything about him was perfect—save his immune system, which had been ravaged by surgery after surgery. They had demolished it completely beyond repair, and a procedure to fix it only worsened it. After that, they had regularly given bolstering shots, the needle sinking deep into his spinal cord. They didn’t seem to care if it hurt him--it did, but he didn’t react. He never had reacted to what they did. 

He would never make a big deal of illness, simply treating it himself. On the rare occasions he couldn’t rid himself of it in a day or two, when it became serious, Nagito swept in and cared for him as best he could until he recovered. After all, Izuru had done the same for him on many occasions, helping send him into full remission while still carefully monitoring his damaged health. He was in no danger at the moment, but he would always have to be watched to make sure the cancer didn’t return.

But once Nagito had recovered, he threw everything he had into nursing Izuru when he fell ill, even when he had been pushed away and ordered to leave. It wasn’t like his immune system was much stronger than Izuru’s. But those had been the only commands he had ever defied, staying with him until the fever dropped to a safe temperature, until he could sleep through the night without violent shivering forcing him awake, or when he could get out of bed on his own.

For all the people who had tried to kill him over the years, for all the bullets fired and punches thrown and knives stabbed at him, it was always fever that brought him the closest to death’s door. There were at least three separate occasions where he had to be irritatingly nursed and fussed over for at least two weeks until he was declared recovered. 

The first time, the doctors had still had him in their grip. That nurse had shown him a taste of how she had treated Hajime, taking over every aspect of him for that period. But his sickness-blurred memory was too cloudy to remember much more than his head being held up as he was spoon-fed soup and medicine in tandem, the burning, invasive eyes of people on him as he was constantly monitored, there being brightly colored band-aids on his wrist where they had taped in the IV. Someone had been fired (and then likely killed) for infecting him—because he had almost died, just of a simple influenza. 

Every other occurrence was, thankfully, while he was in Nagito’s care. The second bout had been during Junko’s reign, and he had been forced to desperately hide how  _ sick  _ Izuru was from her, for fear of what she would attempt when he was too weak and feverish or in too much pain to move.

He knew the answer to that fear. But Hajime would never know, and neither would Nagito. He had never written it down, never  _ would  _ put it to words.

_ I need to eat before I speak to the others.  _ He still smelled like salt and freezy pop, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and could be dealt with later. So he ate quickly and as cleanly as he could with his hands, and went off.

“There is something I have to take care of, Nagito. I will be back later.”

“Alright!” came his ringing reply, the notes he had sung dancing along the words. Izuru wished he had sung more often—perhaps now, he would be indulged.

He stepped outside, fumbling with the doorknob. This lack of coordination was getting boring. His first talk was to be with Koizumi. Hajime had been hurt by her, and he assumed he had likely hurt her feelings as well. If he could trace what had happened before the mirror, it could help him figure out how to further aid Hajime.

He had been in an argument with Mahiru, per Nagito’s words, which was when he had snapped at Izuru. Then the operation, which had sent him over his limit. Perhaps he didn’t even notice how badly that had hurt him. He shouldn’t have been made to do that—it should have been taken care of by the Future Foundation.

But that was another conversation with Naegi and Tsumiki that likely wouldn’t happen for a while. Tsumiki was terrified of him now, according to Hajime. It made sense. After Junko had died and she had desecrated both herself and Enoshima’s corpse as she had, she had acted towards him in a frankly unacceptable manner. A manner that had resulted in her being thrown into a wall for putting hands on him. Neither of them wanted anything to do with each other, and Izuru certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. 

Mahiru wasn’t hard to find. She was sitting with Hiyoko at the hotel restaurant, eating and talking with her. 

“Koizumi.” She flinched, dropping her sandwich on her plate. Hiyoko opened her mouth, likely to tell him off, but closed it when she saw the suit he was in and the look in his eyes, visibly shrinking back. They all feared him. As they should, he wagered. Whether they had killed or had  _ been _ killed, he didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care, either.

She was quiet for a while. “...Kamukura?”

“We need to speak.” 

She nodded stiffly, her food forgotten. “I’ll talk to you soon, Yoko.” 

She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, and walked off with Izuru. They went together in tense silence, her hands resting tightly on her camera. 

“There is no need for fear.”

She didn’t relax. “Sorry for being a little apprehensive of you. It’s not like you put us in a  _ killing game,  _ or anything.” She sighed heavily, letting go of her camera and crossing her arms. “We’re not all Komaeda.”

“I am aware. I know I have much to answer for. But I just need to know what happened between you and Hajime yesterday.” 

“Why?”

So Peko had not told everyone, then. He supposed that was a blessing. He lifted up his bandaged hands, and her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I simply am trying to figure out what happened yesterday. You two had an argument and he was very upset afterwards.” 

Her shoulders slumped and she looked away. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I’m just...worried. And if you’re here, then that means…” she trailed off. “I really made him uncomfortable, then.”

“You were a factor, but you are not the sole reason I am here. I am trying to establish a timeline. To see what pushed him over the edge.”

They sat down by the side of the road, outside the pharmacy. The grass was tall but soft, an easy seat for them. She sighed, staying on guard as he relaxed. Even as Junko’s pet, she had been one of the less recklessly dangerous. She had spread her brand of despair through photographs, not physical violence. She had been a different sort of threat. 

“I had been looking for him, since he still had stuff he said he was going to do after he got that arm off of Komaeda. I gave up and went to bed after a while. Then in the morning, I went to see if Komaeda knew where he had gone. And there he was, sleeping on top of him. It was...the first time I had seen him actually asleep, and I was one of the first people up.”

“Go on. Every detail is important.”

She nodded, her face going red. “Komaeda woke up when I opened the door, and asked me to keep it down so Hajime could sleep. So we were talking, and it turned to how I was worried about him. He was awake for at least part of it, but I don’t know how much he heard. But I went to wake him up and talk to him about how he was acting, how he wouldn’t give up control. He was...irritated. But I kept pushing him, and...he snapped at me, asked me how I would like it if he did the same thing.”

Koizumi paused, staring at the camera in her hands. “I think he’s embarrassed about what he went through.”

“That is...one way to put it.”  _ Completely and utterly humiliated  _ would be how Izuru phrased it, alongside  _ blaming himself for the world ending.  _ “He had a very difficult experience. It was unfair of you to push him. But I doubt he meant to snap at you.” Hajime didn’t get sharp without provocation. 

“He only snaps like that when he’s at his limit, or he’s really upset or tired. I guess it was a combination of all of that, huh?”

He hefted his glass-ripped hand. “He pushed himself too far. Alongside your words, and operating on Tsumiki, and all the building stress, it was likely too much for him. I do not know for sure, but that is my prediction.”

“You haven’t changed at all, Kamukura,” she said, leaning forward. A breeze ran through, ruffling their hair and catching their ties. “You’re the one of us who stayed the same.”

“So I have been told.” he didn’t particularly care if he’d changed or not. 

“You put us through all that, and come back just like you were before. At least you see what you did, to all of us. To him.”

He was making eye contact with another seagull across the road. Maybe it was the same one from before. It stared at him. He stared at it. 

“I carried it out for selfish reasons. Undoubtedly I was manipulated into what I did, but I still did it. I do not seek forgiveness, or even my presence being tolerated. I simply owe Hajime and the rest of you penance. Whether you choose to take it is up to you.”

She huffed a breath. “It’s not like we’ve done anything better. All in all, you’re still probably the most innocent of all of us.”

“I have killed as well, Koizumi. I was hers just as much as any of you were. Perhaps more.”

Her face twisted. “Geez...you don’t have to put it like  _ that.” _

“If you are referring to her...corpse, that never happened.” He had just stood there over her body--missing an arm, an eye, a womb. Stared at it and walked off, still not being free of her. Her soft voice haunted his dreams, phantom nails still clawed down his hair and chest and back at every opportunity. 

The seagull had flown away. The ocean was still visible in the distance, its dull roar a soft undercurrent to the entire sound of the island. “That was not what I meant. We were all twisted until we broke in her hands. I am no different.”

She sighed. “Why do I feel like you were broken before she ever got ahold of you?”

“That comes with being a creation of men playing God.” He looked down to his elbows, hidden in a suit. Remembered the constant bruises that had taken months to finally heal once he had escaped. He crossed his legs, looking up at the clouds. “I was never whole.”

She got up, offering a hand that he shook his head at. “You messed up, and you messed up bad. But I’m willing to give you a second chance for Hajime, Kamukura. Just...tell him I’m sorry.”

“Tell him yourself. You just have to wait a few days, most likely.”

She stilled, then nodded. “Fine. But just remember--you’re on thin ice here.”

“Kuzuryu said the same thing. It would be foolish to immediately put your trust in me, after all.” 

“...yeah. Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes. Go back to Saionji.”

She nodded, and began to turn away, but changed her mind, looking back at him. “I know you’re trying to help him, but is he trying to help  _ you _ ?”

“He is under no obligation to.” He had. In his own ways, he had tried to help Izuru—quiet ideas he bounced around in his head, promises to show him what life could be like in a peaceful time. He had let Izuru rest, taking on the brunt of the work and defending him as best as he could to the others. He never once passed judgement on the horrible things he had done, accepting Kamukura as he was when he had every right to shove him away. Trying to understand and sympathize with him, even if he was incapable of returning the favor. Hajime respected him. Treated him as equal, in a way _nobody_ had.

That sense of immediate brotherhood had done more for Izuru than perhaps anything else.

She sighed, crossing her arms and stealing a glance at the distance. “I don’t like you. I haven’t forgiven you, and I don’t know if I will, but you still deserve help, too. You shouldn’t have to do it all.”

“I had the years to come to terms with what I was. He has had barely six weeks. And we are…still learning how to live as we are. We are trying to work as a team.”

It hadn’t been long after they awoke.

_ Izuru...can I cut our hair? I don’t want to if it’s important to you, but, it’s hard for me to look at myself sometimes. I can learn to live with it, though. _

_ Cut it. It has already been mostly removed.  _

He missed it. Missed it deeply. And he resented Naegi for doing the very same thing. But Hajime asked. Hajime tried to do his best. He could still see himself in the mirror without it.   
  


Maybe he would invest in a wig. Maybe he could find a different trait to reclaim. The red eye certainly beckoned him whenever he saw himself.

He knew Hajime wanted to help him back, felt guilty about cutting his hair and asking so much so often. He knew that the second he was able to, he would make it up to Izuru. He just wasn’t  _ there yet,  _ and they both knew it.

“You’ve been doing a lot for him; at least, that’s what I’ve been told. It’s your body and your life too, you know.”

“I know. But remember, Koizumi. I am used to living with far less than I have now. Being able to aid someone else is...something unexpected. A gift.” 

With that, he turned and walked off, leaving her silent on the road. The walk to his cabin was windy and warm, the smell of rain in the air.

The instant he was inside, he locked the doors and windows.

He didn’t even take off his tie before he collapsed onto the bed, tumbling down into a deep, dark sleep. 


	23. The Louisville Shuffle (RIP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!! sorry for a shorter chapter today. in light of recent events, i want to please ask that you do your research before commenting certain suggestions or ideas, mostly regarding the system aspects of the fic. Of course, feel free to correct me when i get things wrong!! 
> 
> it really does brighten my day when you guys leave comments (i love you and i REALLY need to be better about replying), but don’t be upset if something ignorant is said and I call you on it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your tireless support, and enjoy!!!  
> -fen <3

_ He sat on a broken slab of concrete, his tie fisted in Junko’s hand. The sky was bloody red. Ignoring her as best he could, he stared straight ahead, at a nearly obliterated billboard for a movie that would never come out.  _

_ She gave it another tug, pouting. “You can’t ignore me forever, babe!” _

_ After years, he knew he couldn’t, but he certainly could try. It was boring how these interactions went. She would approach him after the meetings, corner him somewhere far away from everyone else. He’d tell Komaeda to wait until he came back, to stay  _ **_away_ ** _ until he returned. Sometimes it was an hour. Sometimes it was a day--sometimes he would wake up somewhere he didn’t fall asleep and he would have to find out where he was, where Komaeda was.  _

_ Komaeda never left where he had been stationed, a dutiful servant in every way. And he would always smile the same way, a big, genuine grin. He would take Izuru’s hand in his own, his head tilting to the side as he would greet him. “Welcome back, Kamukura!” _

_ No matter what straits he came back in, he was always greeted the same. No matter if his neck was so bruised that it looked rotted, no matter if he was beaten to hell and back, he was always gentle and welcoming. He would sit him down, dab at his bloody nose and rub ointment on his wounds.  _

_ Junko huffed a breath and smoothed out her skirt. Another yank on his tie, until he was positioned that she had easy access to his lap. She took the opportunity, hopping onto him as if he was her throne. He shoved her off, but she hopped back on, slamming his back into the brick wall behind him. “Hold still, babe. I need to get comfortable, you know!” _

_ “Find somewhere else to sit.” He didn’t fight. It was useless to fight. _

_ She frowned, flipping around to straddle him, completely pinning him against the wall. A soft hand slammed his face into the brick, skinning his cheeks and drawing blood. Komaeda would have to pick rubble from his face later.  _

_ “But you’re my favorite chair,” she cooed, stroking the side of his face. “Why would I sit anywhere else?”  _

_ She untied his tie with careful precision, tossing it to the side. “Loosen up, babe! What’s wrong?” _

_ “Get off me.”  _

_ She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No.” Her voice was singsong and lilting as she grabbed his face, inspecting him like a prize horse. Her hands were cold and she handled him roughly, twisting him to and fro. Her expression soured as she examined him, as harsh and unforgiving as any doctor. “You’re getting skinny again.”  _

_ His chin was tilted up, leaving his neck fully exposed, a nail dragging up his throat. These inspections had become routine. Become boring.  _

_ Every time Junko came to visit, she would corner and inspect him like this. Yanked somewhere private, pinned against the wall and poked at until she was satisfied. Rather like a doctor.  _

_ “Does that upset you?” _

_ She grinned, her eyes gleaming an icy blue. They were cold and steely, locking with his own and never letting go. “You always know the way just to my heart.” She pressed a little peck to his mouth--tasting like bubblegum. Her hands fisted in his hair as she situated herself. “You’re bored again. Let’s have fun, shall we?” _

_ Her hands ripped at his hair as he shoved her off. She scratched lines across his face as she was shoved back, drawing hot pink ribbons across skin that was already raw and scraped. He stood up, staring passively down at her. This session was complete. He would go back to Komaeda, and leave the city with him until the next summons.  _

_ He picked up his discarded tie and walked away, retying it as he went.  _

_ “Where the  _ **_hell_ ** _ do you think you’re going, babydoll?”  _

_ “Away. You are finished.” _

_ She ran up behind him, clamping down on his shoulder. “Who said anything about that?” _

_ “I am finished with you, Enoshima,” he said, standing his ground. “Leave me.” _

_ “We’re done when I  _ **_say_ ** _ we’re done, Kamukura.” Oh, his last name. He was in trouble. Big trouble. She pivoted around to be directly in front of him, putting hands on his chest. Stopping him. “I want to have a good time, and you’re gonna help me.” _

_ “No.” _

_ Her grin was saccharine. Murder gleamed in her eyes. “Who said you had a choice, Izuru?” _

He forced himself awake, his breaths quick and hurried. The room was dark, and his jacket was hung up by the door. He cast a look at the clock--12:46 am.

“Oh, you’re up.” Nagito sat on the couch, in a pair of glasses and his hair tied back, reading a book. “I hope you slept well.” 

He sat up and stretched, cracking his back and neck. There were no scratches on his face. His face was clean, the only scarring still across his forehead. He ruffled his hair, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “How long?”

“About 10 hours. You needed it. I do hope you feel better, love.” He stood up, marking his place and closing his book. “Are you going to go back to bed?”

“Perhaps. Would you like me to?” He nodded, pulling his hair out. He was in a t-shirt that likely belonged to Hajime, the fabric sliding off his shoulders as he stifled a yawn behind his hand. 

“Yes.” He slept better when Nagito was with him. The dreams were more manageable when he had someone to wake up next to. Someone he could hold onto until he calmed down. Someone he felt safe with. 

“Are you doing better?”

He got up and began to undress, changing into whatever sleepclothes he could find. The sweatpants fit this time around. 

He laid back down, pulling Nagito into a spooning position. They had slept together like this for years, huddling for warmth and protection. Now, it was just for comfort.

“You’re more comfortable to sleep with when you’re not in a suit,” he mumbled, tracing his finger down his chest. “You should dress like this more.” 

Suits were his armor against the world. He was stronger with a tie around his neck and a coat around his shoulders. Every scar was hidden away. 

“I...like my suits.”

He sighed, snuggling up to Izuru, his hair tickling against his chest. “I know you do, love. But you don’t need to look your best all the time. I promise. And I locked the doors and windows for you.” 

“Thank you.” It was irrational, especially here. Even if anyone wanted to hurt him, he’d easily be able to handle it. But it was the principle of the thing. Enoshima had never learned how to pick locks, and Nagito had never asked him why he did it, simply accepting it and doing it for him when he collapsed or got sick.

They curled together, legs and arms tangled, Izuru’s head resting on the pillow. It was peaceful, certainly more peaceful than it ever had been. But sleep dragged him back down, unwilling to let him escape just yet. 

_ He came to in the middle of the road, his head pounding. Alone. A different part of town. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there, or why his wrists were scratched and bruised, or why his shoulder was bloody. He struggled up, catching a glimpse in a shop window. A mirror stood innocently in there, beckoning him in. _

_ He carefully stepped through the shattered window into the store, staring at himself—well, the battered apparition he’d become. _

_ The bruises cleared up the mystery. But nevermind that. He would deal with it later—it was a (boring, and ultimately useless) hassle to get Enoshima to  _ **_stop._ ** _ He had other things to take care of. _

The ceiling was the apple of his eye as he sat in the dark, snuggled up to Nagito. 

_ What else did I just ignore? What else did she get away with, that I can’t even remember?  _ He had assured others and himself that he had healed from Junko’s tortures, but lying was one of his talents.

Even lying to himself.


	24. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touched in more ways than one.

He lay awake for 3 hours and fifty-four minutes, until Nagito began to stir in his arms, his brows furrowing. He was dreaming again. Unlike Izuru or Hajime, he had legitimate nightmares instead of memories, but they were still influenced by his life. The horrible things that had been dealt to him.

He confided in Izuru sometimes, about his dog, the plane crash, the kidnapping, the diagnosis. The thousand painful things and indignities he had been made to go through in his life. He had been dealt a difficult hand, and that was putting it lightly. But he dealt with it by turning his anger inward, facing everyone else with an easy smile. After so much trial, he had convinced himself that he deserved whatever happened to him, that even if he desperately wanted to be loved, he was too dangerous. His luck ripped away anything he wanted and loved. 

Izuru had luck, as well. As did Hajime. He had assured Nagito many times that their luck evened out, that he wouldn’t be taken. For years, that had been the case, until they made the mistake of going to Towa. That single decision had seemingly spelled their downfall. Even if he had asked Izuru to stay back, even if they still did their best to be together with the Warriors of Hope in the way, Towa was where he had been found and captured. Where Junko’s computerized persona continued to torment him and others. Where he, like he always had, simply watched. Being too bored to intervene. Perhaps anticipating something interesting from Komaru Naegi, when she arrived.

But as he always was, he had been disappointed. Everything disappointed him. He supposed he set his expectations too high. But lowering them would only make the boredom more unbearable. Lower expectations meant more things to deal with that he didn’t care about. He didn’t care about many things. 

Nagito, however, was one of the exceptions. It hadn’t started as care—he wasn’t yet capable of caring when they had met. Izuru had only allowed him to accompany him on the basis of interest. Nagito Komaeda was  _ interesting _ , and Izuru had been in desperate need of something he couldn’t understand right away. Someone who he couldn’t place immediately, unlike nearly everyone else he’d ever met.

Boredom was a sickness. And while there was no permanent cure, while he would always have to deal with apathy dogging his every thought and move, Nagito had helped him stave it off, taught him how to  _ cope. _

Nagito stirred again. Izuru tucked him closer to himself, smoothing down hair that tickled at his chin. He would be alright. He would force himself awake from the nightmares that caused him to need attention and reassurance. His regular dreams were bad, but he was so accustomed to them that he would be more disconcerted if his dreams were pleasant.

“How would you teach me to cope,” he mumbled softly, looking away from Nagito and back to the ceiling, “if I told you everything that happened to me?” 

Nobody knew  _ everything _ . Not even his journal held every dark secret he held close to his heart, tucking themselves in under milder circumstances, slightly smaller traumas. Only he knew the depth of the doctors’ meddling with him, how  _ sick  _ he could become  _ so  _ easily, how exactly Junko had helped herself to him. 

The others surely suspected the latter, and it wasn’t as if Junko denied their whisperings when she pulled him away. But they had never asked him, and even if they had, he wouldn’t answer. It wasn’t their business. And surely it would hurt Nagito and Hajime if he had ever spoken about it or penned the words. Some hurts just had to be kept inside.

He wasn’t sure if “hurt” was the right word for what she had done. Demeaned him, used him. She had used everyone; he wasn’t special in that regard. Everyone was a plaything to Enoshima, he had been no different. But the attention she had doted on him had always  _ felt  _ different from what she fed the others. He wasn't a malleable putty in her hands. He was a metal rod to snap in two.

It didn’t help that he also didn’t have the same blinding love for her as the rest. With the exception of Nagito and his blizzardy mixture of adoration and revulsion, he had been the only one who didn’t love her, didn’t do everything  _ for  _ her. They had been two predators circling each other, him regarding the other as a puzzle to solve and her seeing him as a rival to break. More and more, he was accepting that he lost that fight. She had been toppled by a different Ultimate Hope, a purer, organic holder of the title. Someone, even if he resented him, he could admit who deserved the title. Had won it fairly, instead of it being hoisted upon him.

He closed his eyes, knowing he was far from falling back asleep. He had told himself that he had healed, that he was as recovered as he could be from what had been done. So he could focus on Hajime, someone who was struggling so much more deeply than he.

Perhaps Izuru shouldn’t ignore his own struggles as much. Even the fact that he still locked those windows and that door while  _ knowing  _ without a  _ doubt  _ that he was safe was some sort of proof that maybe he wasn’t as healed as he thought. Maybe the fact that he still flinched at outside touch or took lengths to hide the teeth marks on his shoulder were signs that he was every bit as broken as Hajime. He may have been able to recognize himself in the mirror, but that didn’t mean he liked looking into it.

Everything that had been done to him was compartmentalized, placed in a neat little box for him to confront when he felt like it. 

He never felt like it. 

It was simpler to just place all his efforts into helping Hajime—it was logical, as well. His primary role was to be a protector. His first priority was Hajime’s safety and would always be, and he was grateful to take on the task. But he was...perhaps...human, too. He had his own problems that he couldn’t brush aside, or they would come back and hurt them both.

Hajime had been completely silent since the mirror. He was tucked in deep, his thoughts either faint and too indistinct to hear, or not there at all. It almost felt like he was alone in his mind. 

The thought was lonelier than he expected it would be.

_ I know you cannot hear me, Hajime. But I hope you are recovering easily. I hope you can be ready to return soon. _

His hands ached, but he couldn’t open the Tylenol bottle on his own, and he wouldn’t wake Nagito unless he needed to. His face had softened and he was sleeping peacefully again, nearly getting lost in the sheets and Izuru’s body. He’d slept with far worse pain. He’d be fine. 

He was always...going to be fine. Being  _ fine  _ was just how he was, just as being  _ bored  _ was just how he was. Permanently unaffected by the world around him—or at least, appearing to be so. For a long time, he  _ had  _ been like that. Aside from Nanami’s death, he had felt  _ nothing  _ for a long time. It took patience, persistence, and several frustrated tears from Nagito before he even had begun to grasp that his emotions were still alive and in his reach—that they had been smothered by apathy, but were not entirely gone.

Surely, his emotions had been damaged and blunted. The doctors had undoubtedly been in intentional when the surgery wiped away any empathy he could ever have exhibited. Crushed down his emotions as they buried Hajime so deep inside that he would never have been able to crawl out on his own. They had counted for almost everything while making him.

Everything except Nagito. Everything except what kindness and perseverance and adoration would do to warp him. Junko had seen that. It angered her, causing her to take special care to hurt him—by proxy, hurt Izuru. There were gouging scars on Nagito’s back that he himself had tended to; testaments to how far she was willing to go to keep Izuru to herself. 

She had won in some ways—she had been able to have him. She had snapped several integral parts of him and reshaped them to her liking. But whatever she had of him was taken—he had never once freely given what she wanted. She had to push him until he broke and let her have what she wanted, but it was never handed over. She never had his love or loyalty. She just had what she stole. 

Nagito  _ had  _ been given everything she had taken and more. He had  _ earned  _ loyalty and yes, eventually, love. Izuru would never know if the love he gave really  _ was  _ love. If he was truly capable of something so deep and vulnerable. But whatever it was, it sat deep in his chest and burned quietly, urging him to  _ stay with Nagito. Keep him safe. He keeps you safe. He is  _ **_good._ **

Before he could fall any deeper into his thoughts, the phone rang. Nagito stirred, mumbling incoherently. Izuru grapsed for it, using his better hand to pick it up and answer.

_ “What,  _ Naegi?”

His voice was rushed and breathless, almost...excited? “Do you know when Hajime will be back?”

An idiotic question. One they had to have already gone over. “No. A few days is my guess. Why?”

“Tell him to call me as soon as he fronts. I found his mother.” 

_ His mother.  _ Not Izuru’s mother—he didn’t have one. Just a team of scientists and doctors instead of parents.

But Hajime’s mother...Hajime loved her, thought of her fondly and often. Izuru didn’t know what she was like or her appearance. Nothing, other than that she was loved and trusted. 

“His mother? Truly?”

“Yeah!” It was the most upbeat he’d ever heard Makoto. “I’m sure she’d like to talk to you, but I think it would be better to talk to Hajime first…”

“I have no knowledge or memory of this woman. It would be foolish and likely harmful to put her in contact with me before Hajime speaks to her.”

“I know. She’s just very anxious to talk to him.” 

“I will not bring him out to the front until he is ready. When I can contact him again, I will let him know immediately.”

“Okay. Just keep me updated, okay?”

“Very well.” He clicked off the call, sighing.

“What was that?” Nagito sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Why did Makoto call?”

“Hajime’s mother has been located. Naegi wishes to put them in contact when he is better.”

His eyes widened, and he scooted over beside Izuru. “Really?”

“Yes.”

——

Makoto sighed and turned his phone off, turning his gaze towards the door. He was in a small but clean apartment, one of the rebuilt homes after the world had begun to recover. 

A small picture of the Hinatas sat on the table next to his seat. Hajime couldn’t have been older than seven, beaming from ear to ear as he was hoisted up by his father. His mother stood to the side, resting a hand on her husband’s arm. He picked up the picture, a dragging feeling of guilt hitting him.

“The tea is ready!” Mrs. Hinata said, bustling in and setting down two teacups. She was a portly woman, her hair the same brown shade as Hajime’s and her eyes a matching green, burning with the same determination. Even before sharing more than just a few words with her, he could tell the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

She took the teapot off the stove and poured them both a cup, sitting down next to him, passing him a coaster. “I’m honored to have a member of Future Foundation in my home. Makoto Naegi, no less. But why, exactly, are you here?”

He sighed, setting the picture down. “Your son attended Hope’s Peak when the Tragedy began, correct?” 

She visibly deflated, sinking into her seat. “Yes. Hajime was part of the Reserve Course.” She took a shaky breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We were hesitant about letting him go, you know. All that money, just for a fancy name on a diploma. But he got that scholarship out of nowhere, and he’s--he’d--wanted to go his whole life. We should have just made him stay, but I couldn’t deny him that dream.” 

_ She blames herself.  _

“I hate to ask, and I apologize if this is difficult, but when was the last time you heard from him?” He would tell her soon, he just needed a few questions answered first—for Hajime’s and her sake.

It took a moment before she responded, picking up the family photo. “He just...stopped answering us about four months before everything happened. He used to text us every few days and called every week, but one day, he...”

She sighed and opened the drawer on the side of the table, pulling out an old phone. She powered it on, and handed it over, showing a series of texts. 

_ Hajime: I’ll talk to you soon, okay? I might be off my phone for a little while, but it shouldn’t be too long. Love you! _

“That was the last time I ever talked to him.” The date was clear on the phone. Years ago. She had thought her child was dead for  _ years.  _

But the dates matched up, right when the medical record had indicated his phone had been taken. So nobody had posed as him to keep his family from worrying. That was good.

“Did the school ever contact you about where he was? Or did you ever contact the school?”

She crossed her arms. “You know, it’s strange...I called to see what was going on, and I was told that he had been  _ expelled.  _ But we never got a letter, and he never came home when he was supposed to, so…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “We just assumed he was still there when everything happened.”

He pulled out a copy of Hajime’s school photo. Even just by looking for half a second, you could tell they were related. “You’re 100% sure that this is your son?”

She nearly yanked it from his hands. “Yes.  _ Yes.  _ Where did you get this?”

He took a steadying breath. “Hajime wasn’t expelled from Hope’s Peak. He wasn’t given a scholarship, either.”

She slowly looked up from the photo, a cool, neutral expression on her face. “Explain.”

He fisted his hands on his pants, looking down at his shoes. “He was allowed to attend and have his tuition waived in exchange for letting them use him for experimentation.” 

_ “What?”  _

“And he survived...but not...really...like himself.” It wasn’t his place to explain Kamukura to her. “He’s back to himself, mostly, and he asked me to look for you.” 

Her voice was flat. “Where is he.”

“You can’t see him quite yet—he’ll call in a few days—“

Her voice cracked.  _ “Where is my son?” _

He shrunk back into his own chair. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. It’s not safe for him or the people he lives with to reveal his location. But he is alive, he is safe, and he is in recovery.”

She leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. “So you tell me my son is alive. But you can’t tell me where he is. You have no proof of him. This had better not be some kind of sick joke.”

He hesitantly reached over and placed a hand over her own. “I promise. I swear on my life, Hajime is alive and okay.”  _ Well, maybe not okay. But alive. Alive and back in the driver’s seat of his own body. Most of the time. _

“I’m going to put you two in contact as soon as he’s physically able to.”

Her eyes glinted. “You say that like he’s hurt.”

_ She definitely knows who Kamukura is. Everyone does. I have to be careful.  _ “Like I said….he was...experimented on. It wasn’t pretty. He’s still healing from everything they did, and I just called...he needs a little while before he’s up to any surprise or big shock. But he did ask me to look for you.”

“But why does he know  _ you?  _ Why is Future Foundation involved with my son? What  _ happened  _ to him?”

“I’ve...read a record. It’s not pretty. But I’ll let him choose what to tell you, when he’s ready to talk.”

She was getting frustrated. “And when will that be?”

“I’ve been told a few days is the likely estimate.” 

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’d better be right about that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)  
> IMPORTANT: updates may slow down, as i begin my job tomorrow.
> 
> anyway i love all of you, you are sweet and amazing and i love hearing what you have to say! remember to shower, or wash your face and hands, and to make the best of your day!
> 
> -fen <3


	25. Bored.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar feeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s up am posting this on my break go McDonalds woop woop
> 
> sorry the formatting is so screwy i will fix it when i get home :) 
> 
> i love u as always!! <3 -fen

_Hajime._

_Hajime. This is important._

He couldn’t hear anything _._

\-------------

Izuru sighed, sitting at a table of the hotel restaurant as the dumbfounded stares of the entire 77th class surrounding him. 

“You told Makoto to do what?”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Souda.” 

“You’re making Makoto come, because--”

“Hajime won’t listen to the rest of you, yes,” he said, waving a hand. “I just thought to inform you of his arrival before he comes in a few days. That was all.”

“Is he okay?”

Izuru lifted up his bandaged hands for what felt like the thousandth time. “I would not be here if he was able to speak to you.”

He had woken up in a funk. Even after he had fallen back asleep after Makoto’s call, something was just bugging him. Well, he knew what. He was bored--and not the normal, everyday bored.

He was _bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored BORED._ The kind of bored that pushed out everything else, the kind of bored that rendered him immobile for hours on end, completely ensnared on the claws of apathy. They talked at him, asking questions and yammering things that he didn’t care about.

Maybe it was a bad move, especially for someone who was trying to repair his relationships with the others, but it was too much at once and he simply did not care. 

He got up and walked out, ignoring the cacophony of too much noise. He wanted _out out out out out out out out out out out out out out_ and to be left alone. 

The beach beckoned to him, and he sat in the sand, not caring if his suit got dirty. _Hajime’s mother. What will she say of me?_

Kamukura was a Remnant. Publicly known as the de facto leader of the group once Junko was well and truly dead. She would know him. She hated him, most likely. Most everyone did. Even on this island, he was tolerated at best and blatantly avoided at worst. The outside world mounting his head on a stick would have been them being merciful to him. The same went for them all. 

_How are we going to explain this one, Hajime?_

No answer. Izuru had amended to speak to him without forcing him forward—speaking to his mother would be very beneficial, but he couldn’t shove Hajime forward too soon. Gently encouraging him and talking to him while still maintaining his distance seemed the best course of action.

The sea offered him no answers, either. It just pounded away, waves washing up to his shoes and retreating. This was a new kind of problem that nobody else could help either of them with. 

A new challenge, something interesting, as mind numbingly, skull-poundingly, despairingly bored as he was. And even with this new problem presented, he was still _bored bored bored_. 

It was the kind of boredom that he hadn’t the care or will to shake himself out of. The kind of utter apathy that had taken him over when Future had taken him. 

“ _Are you even listening to me?” Sakukura slammed his fist down on the table, millimeters from where his head was being held down by Munakata. He didn’t so much as flinch. “I asked you a question.”_

_He was too bored to care. He wasn’t about to dignify them with a response, either. The metal was cool against his cheek, the hand shoving him down scratching at his scalp, pushing him nearly into the table. His hands were bound behind him, his own tie being ripped off and used to restrain_ _him when he so much as lifted his hand. He wasn’t going to fight. He didn’t care to fight. He could have, but Kyosuke’s sword resting against his neck would have been bothersome to deal with._

_His only concern—and it barely was a concern—was keeping the USB hidden. He knew they wouldn’t find it. But they_ _had found and taken everything else. His_ _journal, Nagito’s key, that hair clip. Even his change of clothes. However, even if they strip-searched him (It was bound to happen. There were more doctors here—he could tell they were itching to see what had been done to him. Their hungry eyes followed him whenever they were near.), they wouldn’t find it. He had kept it in a hidden pocket when taken, now shoved into the poor excuse for a mattress, ready to be grabbed the second he thought he might be moved._

_“I’m only going to ask you one more time. What are you? Where did you come from?”_

_A surgery pod. That’s where he had come_ _from. That was his birth. He had come to in a hospital gown, surrounded by leering doctors and people standing behind a two-way mirror, their cold eyes boring into him._

_His head had been fuzzy and covered in a dull, agonizing throb. That headache was_ _back—it always came back when he was this bored. He stared at the wall through sheets of hair. Ignoring them._

_“Motherfucker,” Sakukura spat under his breath. “What’do we do with him, Kyosuke?”_

_A sigh. The hand released from his head and the sword was sheathed. Izuru sat up, only to be immediately shoved back down, his head knocking back into the table. “Nobody said you could move, Remnant.” The revulsion and condescension in Munakata’s voice was almost impressive for how complete it was._

_“Allow me to try, Sakukura.” They_ _switched places, the boxer fisting his hand in Izuru’s hair and yanking him up to meet Munakata’s cold eyes. Almost as cold as his own. But Izuru was too bored to return the hate that Munakata was piercing him with._

_He broke eye contact dismissively, primly inspecting his nails. “Let’s start over, shall we? I’m feeling generous today. I’ll give you one more chance to behave. It would be wise to take it.”_

_His head was yanked back further, the brutish man gripping his hair so tightly_ _he could have ripped some of it out. His neck was fully exposed. The sword was redrawn, Munakata dragging the tip up his throat, not quite hard enough to break the skin. “You came from somewhere. I would like to know where.” The tip was taken from his neck, but the sword stayed drawn._

_The silence was deafening. They stared at each other, unblinking and expressionless. They looked rather like opposing chess pieces, respectively dressed in all black and white. Bloody nose, pristine face. Unarmed and restrained, hands out and on a weapon. Sheets of dark hair cloaking his vision, short and blond and swept out of his eyes. Ultimate Hope (artificial, title given.), Ultimate Hope (organic, title earned.). Killer and killer._

_Perfect opposites. Perfect balance._

_Perfection was the most boring concept of all. He had been trapped in perfection ever since his awakening. It dragged him down, kept him shackled to this mindlessness that dogged his every step. Every day was the exact same, useless people going through useless routines that led to nothing._

_Why couldn’t anyone see that? How absolutely pointless it all was?_

_He was so, so bored._

_“Answer me.”_

_He blinked. He could predict what would happen next. He’d be punished for his silence, likely slammed back into the table by Sakukura, Munakata asking him to let him back up—to refrain from beating him until he was finished with Izuru._

_Sakukura growled. Izuru had been correct one more. “Answer him, you piece of shit!” And just as he thought, he was slammed into the table, just barely turning his head in time to keep his nose from being shattered._

_“Juzo. Wait until I’m finished with him before you hurt him any further.” Blood leaked from the corner of Izuru’s mouth, the metallic taste coating his tongue._

_“Fine.” He was pulled back up. Useless. He wasn’t going to talk._

_He was dragged out of the room with a broken rib._

That kind of boredom, where he just let things happen because he wanted others to feel the boredom and leave him alone, had plagued him until his hair was cut. He hadn’t felt it since he awoke, would have preferred if it had stayed in the past.

But it seemed Hajime’s vacant space had been filled with Izuru’s oldest companion. 

Hajime would say something along the lines of _you’re being dramatic_ if he could hear him. And maybe he was. But Izuru was, just by nature, somewhat dramatic, at least in how he expressed his _ideas._

_“He talks like he’s always right, doctor.”_

_“He usually is.”_

They made him like that. Blunt and final. No empathy. No understanding of what he could feel, except bored.

“Kaaaaaaamukuuuuuuura!” came a keening cry from behind him. Mioda. 

“Leave me.”

“Nope!” she said happily, plopping down in front of him in the sand. “Ko-ko said to leave you alone, but Ibuki doesn’t want her friend to be sad!”

He sighed. “I am not sad.” He never really had understood sadness—no matter how many times it had been explained. “I am bored.”

“I thought Kamukura was always bored! So why are you acting all poopy now?” She didn’t make any moves to touch him, but her electric gaze stayed fixed on him. There was clear directive and intelligence in her eyes. She was far smarter than her loud, wild persona let on. Far kinder and softer. “What’s wrong?” 

“I am bored.” 

“Ibuki thinks this isn’t your normal bored.” She fiddled with a bead bracelet around her wrist, the plastic clicking together in a more soothing kind of mindless noise. “Ibuki thinks you’re not doing super good, either.”

He shifted so that he was sat cross-legged on the sand, and leaned forward. “Neither of us are...at our best. But I am better off than he is.” And he was. By a long shot.

“But you’re still hurting,” she protested, leaning in as well, so close that they were almost touching. “Want to tell Ibuki about it?”

The Mioda he knew was a different kind of manic. He knew a woman who found utter glee in carnage, in making people scream and watching their ears bleed as she performed her deathly songs. This was a different woman, lively and bombastic, but also caring and welcoming. Almost despite himself, he could feel his thoughts calming down. I can trust her.

Hajime had said that Mioda had called him her friend. Izuru had never had a friend before. But he was beginning to see why the concept appealed to many—as risky as it was. It was dangerous to be vulnerable. It was dangerous to show his true colors, but he felt safe with her. 

“I am bored. More bored than I usually am. And some things have...bothered me.” Perhaps bothered wasn’t the right word, but it was the most neutral option.

Still making sure they didn’t touch, she scooted a little closer. “And are you okay with telling Ibuki what’s bugging you?”

“...yes.”

“Okay! Then let’s talk.”


	26. Ultimate Musician, Ultimate Listener.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ibuki and Izuru have a heart-to-heart. (TW: there are non-explicit references to r/pe. please proceed with caution or click away if this is a trigger.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 12:30am, i'm sleepy, if there are typos i'll fix em in the mornin. good night babies i love all of you go to bed !!!!!!

“Is there something you want to talk about first?” Ibuki asked brightly, her beads clacking together as they locked eyes. “It’s not just Hajime, is it? Lots of stuff is piling up.” Well, that was one way to put it. 

He nodded, almost surprised by her perception. “I am concerned for him. But...you are right. There is more.” 

“I’m here to listen! About everything!”

He blinked. “You would not want to hear it.”  _ Everything. Would you really listen to  _ **_everything?_ ** _Everything that I went through?_

“It’s not about what Ibuki wants to hear, silly.

It’s about what Izuru needs to say.”

_ What do I need to say? _

He sighed, staring past her to the ocean. He liked it. How it was always moving. It never stayed the same. The tide may have been patterned, but no wave ever washed up the same way twice. Comforting, that not quite everything was predictable. He could watch it flow and ebb and churn for hours.

“I convinced myself that I was different from the rest of you. For a long time, I thought I was past Enoshima’s influence.” 

Her grip tightened on her bracelets. 

“But...I was…” he looked away. “I was wrong. She destroyed me every bit as much as she destroyed the rest of you. Not that there was much of me to destroy.” 

“And are you okay with telling me about it?” Her voice had softened, and she reached out—quickly retreating. She was being calm and respectful, keeping him calm.

_ It’s about what I need to say. Not what I want to say. _

He could have sworn he heard  _ her  _ in that moment, her hands ghosting down his body.  _ Good _ **_boy_ ** _ , Izuru! You’re learning!  _

He swallowed hard, staring straight at the ground. The words stuck in his throat. They tasted bitter as he spat them out. 

“I was taken advantage of. I was used,” he mumbled. “By her. Many times. In many ways.” 

Even her stimming stilled.  _ “Izuru…” _

His breathing was heavy and ragged. “I…” the words wouldn’t come out.  _ He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say what he needed to say. He couldn’t say what he meant.  _

“I was used by everyone.”

“Do you mean that, like, as in your body? How you’re all cut-up? Or as in your head? Like nobody treated you right?”

“Both.”  _ Both and far more.  _

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something else, too. Isn’t there?” Her gaze dipped to his exposed wrist. Tiny, scratchy scars from handcuffs and rope burn. 

Hands were wrapping around his throat. “...yes.”

“Are you okay with telling Ibuki?”

_ Hands bound above his head.  _

“Izu?”

_ “Hold  _ **_still,_ ** _ baby.” _

Fear. Nagito had explained fear to him. But Junko had taught him how to feel it in every little intimate way she could.

_ “Just close your eyes.” _

“No. Not yet.”  _ Not ever.  _

“That’s okay,” she said encouragingly. “Ibuki knows that hurts run deep. Can...can she touch you? Hold your hand?”

_ Hands on him. Neck, chest, face, torso, back, legs, everywhere they could reach. Doctor’s hands, or her hands. It didn’t matter. Well, it did. They touched the same places, with entirely different intentions. Hurt the same, left an entirely different mark. _

_ “No—“  _ He jerked back, elbows hitting the sand. “No.  _ Please.”  _ Begging. Begging  _ again.  _ Reducing himself like this was dangerous. Vulnerability was  _ dangerous.  _ But her eyes softened, and she scooted back. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” She laid a hand over her heart as she spoke. “The others don’t trust you, but Ibuki does. Ibuki knows you were cut up and played with like a toy until you broke. Ibuki can see it in your face. In Hajime’s, too. You both were treated real, real bad.”

“Everyone that I have ever met, except Nagito, used me,” he said, still splayed out in the sand, still breathing roughly, still struggling to fill his lungs. 

Hajime began to stir in the base of his mind. 

“I have had nothing until now. All I did was  _ destroy  _ and have been destroyed in return. I am bored, and I am nothing.”

She shook her head. “You aren’t nothing, Izu. You never were.”

“Everyone has said that.” That didn’t make it much easier to believe. “But I woke up an object. I have lived my life in light of that.”

She frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “Then what is Izuru Kamukura? If he’s not a person, what  _ is  _ he?”

“A failed experiment,” he said plainly. It was simple, obvious logic. “A tool.” 

“That’s not nothing. Well...we should look at it like this. Is Hajime a tool? A failed experiment? Because he was treated badly? Because you were treated badly, does that make you less than any one of us?”

“Hajime is human. He was born. I was made.”

“Yeah, yeah! I know! But the way you came into this world has nothing to do with it! For a guy who’s  _ supposed  _ to be the best at, like, literally  _ everything,  _ you downright  _ suck  _ at lying!”

She leaned over to him, still keeping her distance. “Lots of things happened to you, didn’t they? Lots and lots of stuff that nobody else knows about?”

_ “Goddammit. He’s  _ **_sick.”_ **

_ “Well, yeah. He doesn’t feel  _ **_anything—“_ **

_ “No, you fucking moron. He’s  _ **_sick._ ** _ Running a fever. Look at him! He can barely move!” _

He had never admitted it. 

“I am...afraid of getting sick again.”

She cocked her head to the side, bobbing it back and forth. “You can get  _ sick?  _ Ibuki didn’t know that! So if you’re only 100% okey-dokey with it, can you tell her  _ why  _ it’s scary?”

_ “Can you lift up your head for me?”  _

_ He couldn’t. His body was lead and his artificially granted strength had long since abandoned him. He was limp and useless in the bed. He could barely turn his head, much less raise it to be fed and medicated.  _

_ Another  _ **_hand_ ** _ , lifting him up. Gloved fingers putting a bitter pill on his tongue. “Swallow.” It was agonizing. _

_ His head dropped back to the pillow. The head doctor stormed in, his coat flapping around him like a set of wings. Demon. Demon with angel wings. Well, it made sense. Demons were fallen angels, those who turned from God and chose for themselves _ **_._ **

_ “I want to know how he got sick.  _ **_Now.”_ **

_ Breathing hurt, his lungs **aching** as he struggled for air. It seemed the simple flu had progressed to pneumonia. The doctor put an oxygen mask over his face, his chest greedily rising and falling as he breathed. He smoothed Izuru’s hair back, looking almost guiltily at him.  _

_ It was the only parental love he’d ever known.  _

_ “Find out who did this. Bring them straight to me." _

He blinked, sinking his hands into the sand. The texture was...nice. Grounding. “I get sick often, but I can typically rid myself of it quickly. But sometimes…”

_ Izuru? _

His voice was faint, smothered under thoughts and memories that smelled like alcohol wipes and medicine and soup. 

“Sometimes, I cannot stop it or treat it effectively. And it will take me over. Render me useless, basically, for an unacceptable amount of time.”

“Oh, so you mean  _ sick  _ sick! Not some kind of joke or something!”

_ Hajime? Can you hear me?  _ It was like shouting through fog. 

“I do not joke.”

_ Izuru.  _ It was a quiet, desperate plea. He had to concentrate to hear it. 

“Mioda. Could you give me a moment?” 

Clearly confused, she shook her head. “We’re talking! It’s important, you know.”

He sighed. “Hajime is talking.”

“Ohhhh!!!! Oh! Ibuki will give you a moment, then! But when you’re done, we’re gonna finish this convo, kay-kay?” 

“Very well.”

_ IZURU.  _ He sounded like he was underwater, fighting to force himself back up.  _ Izuru. _

_ Hajime, I am here. I can hear you. _

_ Izuru. _

_ Hajime, talk to me.  _

_ I’m scared. I couldn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t RECOGNIZE myself.  _

_ You were at your limit. You are doing better now. You were gone almost two whole days.  _ The sun was beginning to sink behind the sea. 

_ Two days? I lost two whole days? _

_ You needed them. Are you feeling well enough to front again, once I am done speaking to Ibuki? There is something important you need to do. _

_ I’m sick of important things.  _ He knew that. He knew Hajime was tired. But this was one important thing that was...more important than the others.

_ You need to call your mother, Hajime.  _

_ Mom?  _

_ Mom is alive?  _

His voice was so small. So hopeful.

_ When I am finished speaking to Mioda, I will let you front. Go call Makoto. Talk to your mother.  _

_ Okay. Okay.  _

He sighed. “Can we make this quick? He has something to do.”  _ Something important.  _

  
  


She nodded. “Okay! So...when you get sick. Why is it so scary?” Her eyes were big and wide and honest. Real kindness. Real willingness to listen. 

“It is debilitating. I have to be…” he gritted his teeth. “Cared for.” Be fed. Be bathed. Be changed. As helpless as a newborn. 

  
  


“Oh.  _ Oh….. _ Ibuki understands. Izuru doesn’t want to be taken care of...at least, not too much. You got all smothered.”

He nodded. "Thank you for listening. It was...nice." 

She stood up and nodded happily. “Thank you for telling me this, Kamukura! I made you something, to show that I’m your friend! Even if you did bad things!”

She presented a closed fist over his own, not touching him. Careful not to. “Open your hand!”

She dropped a bead bracelet into his hand. “Okay! Byebye! Ibuki will see you soon!”

It was black and red beads, with  _ friends  _ spelled out with little letter cubes, surrounded by little stars. He slipped it onto his wrist, feeling the clack of plastic beads against his wrist. 

Friendship was perhaps a risk worth taking, after all. 


	27. Mama

The headache that came with switching was fully ignored by Hajime as he came to on the beach. He needed  _ out  _ of this suit, and he  _ needed  _ to find his phone.

_ Mom is alive.  _

_ Mom is ALIVE. _

He sprinted to the cabin, nearly ripping the suit jacket off of his torso. The pants could stay. Fine. Whatever. But the tie  _ had  _ to change. His mom wouldn’t recognize him like this. Not if he couldn’t see himself in all black. 

He switched shirts frantically, hands shaking as he dialed Makoto’s number.

“Hello? Izuru?”

“It’s Hajime, he said you found my mom, he said I could call her—“

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down, breathe for a second, okay? She’s right here, I’ve been with her for a day or two. You were a cute kid, by the way.” His voice was light and joking, but Hajime couldn’t have been more serious. 

“Please. Let me talk to her.” He sat down on the bed, not trusting himself to stay upright.

“Okay. Just give me a sec…” he could hear Makoto talking indistinctly as he pulled away from the phone, then it changing hands.

A female voice was on the other end, hesitant and tense. “Hajime?”

_ A warm hug, kisses pressed to scraped-up elbows and knees, the smell of the car when he got picked up from school, the puff of face powder she applied every morning. The smell of coffee and floral perfume. A set of extra hands on the handlebar as he rode his bike for the first time. _

_ Mom. Mom. Mom.  _

His eyes were wet.  _ “Mom? _ Mom, is that you?” His voice was thick, and he swallowed roughly. It was her. He knew her voice. But he had spent the last weeks preparing for the worst, that he could barely believe that it  _ was  _ her and not some cheap trick.

She laughed shakily, clearly crying. “You’re in  _ so  _ much trouble, young man. Why didn’t you  _ call  _ me?”

He grabbed a pillow, hugging it close as he talked. He was nearly sobbing, the words hard to push out. She was  _ here,  _ she was  _ alive _ . He had abandoned her to his own,  _ stupid  _ dream. “I’m sorry. I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Mom. I should never have gone, I should have told you what they were asking me to do, I messed  _ everything  _ up, and…”

“Hey, hey,” she said encouragingly, softly. “It’s okay. Makoto told me some stuff. I’m not mad at you.”

He was shaking, his shoes tapping a clattery rhythm against the floorboards. “What do you know?”

“That you got hurt, honey. That you got made into something you weren’t. But you’re back now. And you’re getting better.”  _ Mom.  _ Her voice was so warm and gentle, so full of forgiveness and  _ love  _ and security. Someone had survived Junko’s scourge. She hadn’t taken everything he loved before Hope’s Peak. Some things remained. 

“I asked to call you,” he mumbled, sniffing. “A lot. They took my phone.”

_ I never got it back. I never got any of my stuff back.  _

“I’m sorry, baby. I should have found you, but...I thought you were with everyone else in the Reserve...and…” she hiccuped. “I’ve been alone for so long. I’ve thought of you every day.” 

“You...you wouldn’t have found me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “They made me into someone else. I didn’t…I don’t remember anything from that time. That wasn’t me in my own body. And you deserve to know. I’m not going to hide it.”

_ I’m going to tell her about you, Izuru. Wish me luck.  _

_ I have faith in you. _

“What do you mean?” She sounded nervous, crackly over the line. “What happened to you?”

“Too much, Mom.”

She sighed. “We’ve all been through too much.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. This was...terrifying. She would have to know who Izuru was. She would have to hate him. Everyone hated him. But he wouldn’t be ashamed of Izuru. He refused to be. They were a team, they were headmates. Hajime would never defend his actions, but he wouldn’t be embarrassed by him. 

“Do you know...who Izuru Kamukura is?” He was sweating, the phone slipping in damp palms.

_ I am sorry if my actions hurt her, Hajime.  _

“What does  _ he  _ have to do with this?”

His voice was low. “That’s what they made me into, Mom. They shoved me down so deep I didn’t think I’d ever come back up, a-and I had no idea that’s what was going to happen. I have...no memory of anything he did. Years are gone. I...I’m not him. He’s not me.” It was something he had to assure himself of constantly. “But we...we share a body. We like...live together. A system. I’m...sorry if it doesn’t make sense.”

  
  


She was silent for a while. 

“...Mom?”

She sighed hard, sounding like she was sinking into a chair. She had had a favorite one—he wondered if it had survived everything. Doubtful.

“I love you, Hajime. No matter what.”

_ She’s not mad, Izuru. Don’t worry.  _

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  _ I’m sorry for lying, I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry that my selfishness ended the world, I’m sorry for everything. _

“It’s not your fault. You got lied to, right? I’m not mad at you. Kamukura...we can get to that later, okay?”

“Okay. But if you call, he might answer sometimes. And he doesn’t know you. So be ready for that. But...well, I can’t really defend him. But he was hurt too. Just as badly as the rest of us.”

“I’ll let him explain himself when the time comes,” she said firmly. “If he isn’t you, I can’t hold you accountable for what he did. He’ll answer to me on my own terms. I’m just...so relieved you’re okay.”

“Me too.” He didn’t ask about Dad. Not yet. If he wasn’t with her, he could assume something had happened. “I’ve missed you. So much. I’m so  _ lonely  _ and I don’t  _ feel like myself  _ and I just have  _ needed  _ you for so long.” His breathing picked up, and his grip tightened on his phone—the pain in his still very much healing hands completely and utterly ignored. “So many things have happened. I did so many stupid things. I had to save everyone, I had to get everyone else  _ out,  _ I look in the mirror and it isn’t  _ me,  _ Mom.”

“Honey,” she said soothingly. “You’re always you. You’ve always been my Hajime, no matter what you look like.”

He swallowed hard, his heart slowing down. She was grounding him, pulling him even farther down to earth. “Would you even recognize me, the way I am now?”

“You still look like Kamukura? I did always think he looked a lot like you—makes sense now, huh?” 

He shook his head, not realizing the silliness of it.  _ “No.  _ I cut off my hair and dyed it, and only one of my eyes is red, but...I  _ look  _ like an experiment. My body is a wreck.”

“But it’s still you. Even if you’re a little different on the outside, I know my baby. No matter what happened.”

“I’m not the same on the inside, either,” he said tiredly, his grip on the pillow loosening. The ache in his hands began to return. “They changed everything about me.”

“I’m sure not everything is all bad. I know you. You’re too strong to break  _ everywhere.  _ You’re getting better, right? And you can tell me everything. I’m here to help.”

The nurse had said the same thing. But this was real. This wasn’t a stranger in a mask and a yellow dress. This was his  _ mom,  _ the person she had tried desperately to replace. 

He slumped. “They took everything from me. I wasn’t allowed to have anything.”

Her breathing was slow and even—she was keeping herself calm. She was getting angry, but not at him. “What happened to you, honey?”

“Surgery. A lot of it. Everything was...changed...or fixed, or  _ completely  _ fucked.” He winced. “Sorry.”

“They shouldn’t have put you through that. Did you know that was going to happen?”

“Kind of?” His tears were slowing down, and he leaned forward, his hands throbbing. He’d go get some medicine, but he doubted he could open the cap. “They just shoved papers at me and told me to sign them. I knew that I’d be operated on...but not as much as they did. It was all...so fast. I signed away my body at three and got led away at four, and they operated on me at seven the next morning. I can do...you know, basically anything now. But they got in my head. Took away basically every bit of control I had. It was like that. For months. I-it’s hard to talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything right away.” Her voice was soothing and encouraging, she was  _ alive, alive, alive  _ and  _ okay  _ and anything she said was like balm to his soul. “I’m just glad you’re  _ alive,  _ Hajime. I...I know I’ve said it already, but I missed you,  _ so  _ much. However you are, wherever you are, I’m just glad you’re  _ okay.”  _

“I’m not...really okay, I don’t think. And I won’t be for a while. None of us are.” Not him, not Izuru, none of his friends, definitely not his mom. “You went through a lot, too, right?”

“Who hasn’t, at this point? The world ended.”

_ Yeah, and it’s my fault.  _

“I know that better than anyone, trust me,” he said defeatedly. “But Makoto helped us. Got us out.” 

“Us? You and...Kamukura?”

“And a few other people, yeah. He got me out of my own head and back to the front—but we’re not on the mainland anymore. I remember going under for surgery and waking up here.”

It wasn’t a  _ lie,  _ really. It just wasn’t the truth. His mom didn’t need to know about Neo World, all the bodies of his friends that’d he’d found and all of them that he was forced to sentence to vicious deaths. She didn’t need to worry about him any more than she already definitely was.

“So...you don’t really know all that much about what happened, then.”

“I know plenty,” he sighed, flopping back on the bed.  _ Shit,  _ his hands hurt. “I just don’t like to think about it. But he tells me things, and he had a journal.”  _ I haven’t read it in a while. I should try and get that finished. _

“You’re blaming yourself again, Hajime. Aren’t you?” 

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. “Whatever happened to you, wasn’t your fault. I can tell you that already.”

“I  _ signed up for it _ , Mom. I had  _ every chance  _ to walk away. I was going to, even! But…”

“But what?” 

“Something bad happened. They lied to us about it. And...w-when I asked for the truth, I was  _ spat on.  _ I-I punched first, I’ll say that, but...but...I was  _ seventeen,  _ Mom. I don’t even know how old I am now, you know, but that  _ feels _ like it was only a couple of months ago.”

“I should never have let you go,” she said regretfully. “I’m sorry. But it was always your dream, and—“

“And they screwed me over. It’s not your fault, Mom. You had no idea; I  _ lied  _ about everything. All of this, everything,  _ everything,  _ it’s all my fault.” 

“You quit that talk  _ right now _ , or I’ll smack you upside the head, Hajime Hinata. If I see you blame yourself for  _ the entire world ending  _ one more time, I’m going to track you down and knock some  _ God damn sense  _ into you.” 

“W-what?” 

“I  _ refuse  _ to let you put the weight of the  _ literal apocalypse  _ on yourself, young man. It takes more than you making some bad choices—which you did, honey. You did. But it takes so much more than one person, who was  _ lied to,  _ to end the world as we knew it. You’re a smart boy, but you really can be dense sometimes. This isn’t on your head.”

“It sure feels like it, though,” he mumbled, his hands  _ throbbing.  _ But he refused to put the phone down. “I made a choice that directly impacted it.”

“You said you had the option to say no to the experiments. Honey, that probably means there were other people they could have picked. Whether it was you or another poor kid, the same thing probably would have happened.” 

“I know, and I-I’m honestly glad that it was me, because I wouldn’t wish what I or Izuru went through on  _ anyone _ , but I  _ still  _ feel like absolute  _ shit  _ about it all the time. That was  _ me. Us.”  _

“You won’t get better as long as you keep blaming yourself. Let me ask you this: was Kamukura made specifically to end the world? If he was, were you told?”

_ “No!”  _ he said vehemently. “J...Enoshima found him. Broke him. He was created to be hope. A good thing.”

“Then that settles it. You, technically, didn’t do anything wrong but fall for a lie, honey. And now you’re back, and I’m assuming you’re trying to fix what got ruined?”

“As best as I can. There’s not much I can do. It would probably help if I could...see myself in the mirror.”

“What do you see?” She was always like this. Helping him get to the bottom of a problem through careful, gentle, but persistent questioning, making him talk through his own mental processes and reach a conclusion.

“I don’t know. A stranger. Not me, not Izuru. I know,  _ logically,  _ that it’s me, that my eyes don’t match anymore and that the lobotomy scars are here to stay and that I had to bleach and dye my hair back to brown, that those things don’t make me  _ not  _ me. But I don’t see myself in those things.”  _ Otherwise I wouldn’t have...attacked my reflection? I think that’s what I did. I think.  _

“Lobotomy scars?” Her voice was dead even. Flat. 

“Y-yeah. That’s how they made Izuru. Took all my memories and emotions and  _ me  _ and shoved me down. I was gone so long I have to...remember that I’m me. And since I look different now, it’s just harder to think that I’m myself, that I have control. That I’m allowed to eat by myself and...stuff.” 

“So you’re associating your appearance with your pain.”

“Wouldn’t you? I look like an anatomical diagram.”

“You’re more than your pain, Hajime. I...I hope you didn’t forget that.” 

She sniffed, blowing her nose in the background. 

_ You’re more than your pain. _

_ All I’ve been making myself is my pain. I think I lost sight of something important.  _

He laid down on his stomach, pressing his cheek into the pillow. His eyes stung from crying. He focused only on his mother’s steady words, a lifeline in the dark. She was right. She was right, and so was everyone else. He would only destroy himself if he kept wallowing.

“You’re right,” he said, staring at the gauze on his hands. “You’re right.”

This wasn’t going to magically fix everything. Identifying the root of the problem didn’t make it go away. But it gave him a damn good place to start. 

“Thank you, Mom.”

She chuckled. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah. I think...I think you finally got a few things through to me.” He wasn’t cured, not even close. He still didn’t feel like himself. He still was scared and paranoid and  _ exhausted.  _ But it was a beginning. It was a good beginning. 

“Good.” She pulled away from the phone, talking in the background. When she came back, her voice was a little resigned. “I have to go, baby. Makoto has to leave.” 

“Oh.” 

She quickly listed off her new number. 

“Before I go...Hajime...your dad would be  _ so _ proud of you. He never stopped looking for you.” 

“I miss him.”

“I do too. I love you, honey. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to start crying again. “I love you too, Mom. I’m going to...do my best. For you.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“That better be a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my favorite chapters. ever. i’m just....hrhrhfghfrh!!!!!! you know? i really had no idea where i was going when this began, but I’m so proud of how far it’s come and where it will go. Thank y’all again and again for supporting me.
> 
> love, fen <3


	28. Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another entry in the journal is read and Hajime begins to accept a few truths about himself.

The line clicked off, and the call ended.

_ How was it?  _ Izuru was quiet and hesitant, still hovering close to the front.

_ She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay. And she’s not angry at us. Well, at least, not at me. She’ll probably have some words with you eventually.  _

  
  


_ That is...better than I expected.  _

_ She knocked some sense into me. I know I’ve been acting like an idiot— _

_ You have been struggling. There is a difference. There is no shame in it. _

_ I punched a fucking mirror. That’s something an idiot does. _

_ Hajime. Do not minimize your own pain. _

_ I’ve been maximizing it, Izuru. That’s the problem. I’ve been letting it CONSUME me.  _

_ That is something relatively out of your control. What hurts you, hurts you. You must simply learn to manage your responses and adapt as you get better. You have not been awake long—you should not expect to be at your prime immediately, or know how to deal with your feelings. It has taken me years to even acknowledge what I went through, much less begin to heal.  _

_ And you have me as well, Hajime. I am here to protect you. Guide you. Keep you safe.  _

_ I know. I just feel like an idiot. I could have saved everyone—you especially—a lot of trouble. _

_ You have the root of your current problem—that you are making everything about what hurts you instead of what heals you. We can work with that. Right? _

_ Right. _

He closed his eyes, tucking his hands into his chest, grabbing Izuru’s journal from the nightstand. More reading. It would probably do him good to know a little more. So he could answer Mom’s questions better.

_ We found a small child recently. A little girl.  _

Hajime gulped.

_ She tugged on my hair, getting my attention while she hid behind an upturned car.  _

_ “What do you want?”  _

_ She was shaky, so Komaeda knelt down beside her. He has a soft spot for children, it seems. And they have a soft spot for him. She clutched a raggedy teddy bear and clung to him. He picked her up, her wrapping skinny arms around his neck and seemingly curling completely into him.  _

_ “Mommy.” _

_ Komaeda laughed softly, ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not your mother. I’m a boy, silly. But we’ll help you find your mommy.”  _

_ We had places to be. Things to do. But she looked truly pathetic—I do not like children, but I am far more generous to them than any adult. Children are just bystanders in this madness. It is no fault of theirs the world erupted to war.  _

_ “So what does your mother look like?” She fisted tiny hands in his hair. _

_ “Mommy.” _

_ “She is in shock, Komaeda. She will not answer you. We should place her in the care of an adult woman.” _

_ “Perhaps.” He held her protectively, reaching up to cradle her head. She melted into him, clutching at his hair and warily regarding Izuru. “We can’t just leave her.”  _

_ Even in the throes of despair, it seemed at least some of his humanity remained.  _

_ Interesting.  _

_ And so began our careers as babysitters. We may be monstrous, pets of Junko, but children seem to be drawn to us. Little ragamuffins have begun to come from nowhere, staring up at us with hollow, empty eyes. Small hands grasp at my hair and pant legs. Cling to Komaeda, get scooped up in his arms. Usually we pass them off to adults who are able to take them—those who are too afraid to defy us or too moral leave an eight-year-old in the care of Junko's toys. There aren’t many, maybe one every two weeks or so. But enough to note a pattern. No matter where we go, a child is bound to approach us eventually.  _

_ Last night, I woke up to a little boy curling next to me. Wrapping himself in my hair, grabbing at my suit, snuggling under my poor excuse for a blanket. He was tiny, so small that even I couldn’t place his age. _

_ I asked him why he was here. He just moved closer, and I let him, wrapping him in Komaeda’s old green jacket. It swallowed him up.  _

_ “I’m cold. You’re not as scary as the other grown-ups.” _

_ “How?” _

_ “We all watch you. You’re not crazy like everyone else, not like my parents or those scary people. You aren’t gonna hurt us...right?” _

_ I know they watch us—pairs of eyes following us wherever we go.  _

_ “No. Causing pain does not bring me any satisfaction. It is boring.”  _

_ “Are you going to make me leave?” _

_ “No.” There would be no purpose to it besides being cruel. I am not cruel. I am bored. Boredom and uncertain circumstances can lead to such persuasions in other, lesser men.  _

_ He was rail thin and his clothes were all raggedy. Winter is approaching. He will surely perish if not properly taken care of. We are not fit for that role.  _

_ He hugged me, desperately searching for warmth. An innocent. One of few left. I don’t understand why they cling to me, someone who had a hand in perpetuating this...mess.  _

_ He’s still asleep as I write this. Wrapped in my suit coat and Komaeda’s jacket, in our blankets. Still huddled next to me, wrapped up in my hair. They all seem to like it. Ones who can, braid it. Others simply play with it, leaving it knotted and filled with flowers they find at ruined grocery stores and florist shops. Komaeda has taken to checking grocery stores for hard candies to give them, or little hair clips and brushes. T _

_ I don’t mind. They seem to find solace in creating and playing—they are children, after all. They no longer can play; they must survive. To give them a small reprieve is the least I can do. _

_ They call me and Komaeda and his classmates ultimate despair. But mindless, senseless violence...at least for us two...is a bore. I do not love Junko. I wish to see conflict. I wish to see hope and despair fight. If I stay neutral, have a hand in both, my eyes stay clear and my mind balanced. The hands of children and the hands of Junko wrap around my own, pulling me each in their own direction. _

_ I will take this little boy to a known shelter. _

_ I will continue to observe. _

_ End of entry.  _

He carefully closed the book, hands shouting at him for some  _ God damn Tylenol.  _

So. Kids. Kids liked Izuru. It seemed that he liked them, or at least sympathized with them. And it made sense that Ko liked kids. From what little he knew about the Warriors of Hope, he very well may not like them anymore, but someone—Mahiru? Had even said he would have been a good dad. 

_ Mahiru. I still need to apologize for snapping at her—and Ko. He was there. I need to apologize to him too, that note definitely wasn’t enough. _

He stood up, went to the kitchen. Cursing vividly all the while, he managed to get the pill bottle open and swallow down two Extra-Strength Tylenol before walking out just a little too quickly to be casual.

He had really been unfair to Mahiru—what she had done was unfair, but he had no right to snap and bolt like that.

And Komaeda... _ shit.  _ He had been  _ terrible.  _ Just dumping all of his problems on someone who  _ just  _ woke up from perhaps the  _ worst  _ death possible. Someone who  _ still  _ accommodated him and did his best to help. He needed help, too. Not just to help Hajime. That wasn’t fair.

He found Mahiru first, desperately apologizing to her in the empty supermarket.

“No, don’t apologize.  _ I  _ was being pushy and unfair. You had every right to get mad.”

“I...I just...I was scared and annoyed and I took it out on you. And I’ve put  _ so much  _ on Ko, and it’s  _ not fair  _ to him, and I’ve been acting like a  _ fucking idiot,  _ and I want to make it right and  _ get better—“ _

Her eyes visibly lightened, and she carefully put a hand on his shoulder. “Did someone get...get through to you?”

He pulled her into a tight hug, clutching at her hard. She grabbed back just as tightly, anchoring themselves to each other. “Makoto found my mom. She...she knocked some sense into me. All of you were right. I’m gonna do better.”

Mahiru’s grip was solid and strong, and she smelled like cinnamon apples. “We’re all...really worried. Izuru said Makoto was coming back, because you weren’t going to listen to any of us.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. “I think I got too caught up in what we all went through and forgot about the people who went through it.”

“It’s okay. You’re trying. Someday, you’ll be all over this--we all will, you know.”

“I don’t think it works like that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, you know, just  _ get over  _ some things. You were  _ killed,  _ Mahiru. I’d be more worried if it wasn’t bothering you, really.”

Mahiru avoided Peko and Fuyuhiko like the plague and vice versa. When she saw them, or they saw her, one or the other would leave the room, even at meals and meetings. Most everyone who had died or killed stayed away from each other. It was a delicate dance, one that Hajime could barely do anything to ease. 

“I’m trying to do better, just like you,” she said, pressing her head against his chest. “We’re all family here, now. We were all shoved into a horrible mess. We need...to band together. I can’t spend my life hating them.”

“You need to get better just as much as I do. You deserve it.”

She scrunched her face, squeezing her eyes shut. “I shouldn’t be taking advice from a  _ boy,  _ but you know what? You’re right. We’re both trying our best.”

“Yeah. We’ve got a long way to go.”

She gently broke the hug, smiling wearily at him. “We’re going to all do it together, though. Promise.”

He nodded. “I have some other apologies to make. Do you know where Komaeda is?” 

“Library. He seems to like it there.”

It made sense--he spent a lot of time there in the simulation. He would spend hours reading in silence and solitude, perfectly content to leave others alone and be left alone, curled up in a specific blue bean bag with his book of the day. 

Hajime walked in hesitantly. “Ko?”

A tuft of white hair perked up from the back of the room. “Hajime?” The book was closed with a soft  _ snap.  _ “Hajime, are you back?”

“Y-yeah.”

He stood up from his beanbag, quickly walking over and pulling Hajime into another hug, pressing a protective kiss into the top of his forehead. “Are you alright?”

“Are you? I—I’m sorry, I’ve been treating you so unfairly, you  _ just  _ woke up and I dumped  _ everything  _ on you, and…”

“Shh. It’s okay. Here, we can talk about it, okay?” He took Hajime and sat him down on an opposite beanbag, smiling lightly. 

“I think we have a lot of things to talk about, Hajime.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehehehehehe >:) 
> 
> As always, i love you all, thank you for your endless support and love! Drink some water and wash your face!
> 
> -fen <3


	29. ...Boyfriend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KOMAHINA STANS THIS ONE GOES OUT TO YOU!!!!!! MWAH!!!
> 
> -fen <3

Nagito absentmindedly rubbed at his bare wrist as he sunk into his own beanbag, careful to not tangle his legs with Hajime’s. He looked anxious and guilty, his arms carefully crossed across his chest and his face flushed. He wouldn’t make eye contact, instead biting his lower lip. 

“I’m not angry at you. At all. You needed someone to confide in, and I’m honored you chose someone like me to lay your worries on.” The beanbag was supple beneath him, complying with every adjustment and fidget until he was comfortable enough. “And besides, I treated you  _ horribly _ at the end of it all, you know. The fact that you have treated me so kindly, doing what you have? It’s more than I deserve.”

He shook his head, pressing his mouth together. “I was worried. That you’d still hate me. You...it hurt, what you did. But I knew by the time that you were waking up, that there was a lot more to it than what you said.” 

It was Nagito’s turn to look away, shame coloring his face. He  _ had  _ hurt Hajime. He had been angry and resentful, he had  _ lied _ . But he didn’t ever hate him. He was just realizing that they were on the same level. He had seen Hajime how he saw himself. It wasn’t...really malice. 

“I saw you as myself. I saw you...lying to me. But with what I know now, what I remember—you didn’t lie on purpose. You didn’t  _ know what  _ you were. You still had such beautiful hope in spite of that. More than I...ever did.”

Hajime sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. There was a tiny incision scar under his chin. “For all the things you did, I did care about you. I…I do care about you. So,  _ so  _ much. But you hurt me. And...when you came out of it and just  _ smiled  _ at me and I  _ knew  _ you didn’t hate me anymore, maybe that you had never actually hated me in the first place...I don’t know. I should have prioritized taking care of you over my own feelings. Just shoving them at you right away...that wasn’t cool.” 

Nagito shrugged. “Listen. We’re in a unique situation...you and me and Izuru. It would make more sense to get how we felt out of the way early, to avoid any sticky conflicts later. I…” he paused. “I love you both. I count myself the luckiest man in the world to have you love me back, or even tolerate me back.”

He scooted his bean bag closer to Nagito, resting his hand on his knee. “I’ve been...doing really badly. You haven’t seen much of it, just because you haven’t been  _ up.  _ But I still...threw a lot at you, right away. Hell, you’re down an  _ arm  _ and I’ve just been...pushing it all on you. I’ve let you comfort  _ me  _ after he  _ cut your hand off. _ ” He exhaled deeply, slumping back into his seat. “I’ve been...a bad boyfriend. I-If you wanted to call me that,” he said, stuttering nervously, flushing red. “I...I’m still not sure, you know? But I just haven’t been doing a good job.”   
  


_ Boyfriend.  _

Nagito hesitantly reached up and placed his hand on the side of Hajime’s face, savoring the sun-warmed softness of his skin and the way he just  _ melted  _ into the touch, screwing his eyes shut and putting a gauzy hand over his own. “I’m sorry, Nagito. I’m sorry.” 

It was a chant he repeated. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Nagito ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “You shouldn’t apologize for wanting to be comforted when you’re hurting.”

“But you’re hurting  _ more--” _

“Hajime. Listen to me, love.” 

A red and green eye blinked open slowly, misty and wrought with guilt. “You want to get better, you said that.”

“I want  _ you  _ to get better, too,” he protested. “You’re still sick, and you’ve been through  _ so much more  _ than I have, and…”

He smiled softly. “I’m in remission. Izuru did that much for me. It may come back someday, but I’m alright. I’m in recovery—just like you! And as for my mental health, well… _ boyfriends  _ work together.” 

Hajime’s eyes widened a bit, his mouth parting in surprise. Perhaps realization. “You’re in remission?” Nagito could have died, for the  _ hope  _ in his voice. It was so clear and pure, so wonderful and  _ complete.  _ And...it was tied to him. 

“Yes.”

Hajime’s breath hitched as Nagito leaned forward and kissed him softly. “I’m going to be alright. So are you. I...I want to get better for you, for your hope to shine even brighter.” 

Hajime frowned then, and Nagito’s stomach dropped.  _ Did I say something wrong?  _

“Nagito…” he sighed. “I want to get better for you, and for Izuru, and for everyone on the island. I know...you guys see me as a leader of sorts. But I also want to get better for  _ me.  _ And I, uh, I  _ hope  _ that someday you’ll want to get better for  _ you.”  _

It was Hajime’s turn to tiredly smile then. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I called my mom today. I want you to talk to her sometime. If she can knock sense into me, I think she can knock a little sense into you. I...I know where you’ve gotten some of your coping mechanisms and...stuff from, and…” he huffed a breath, crossing his arms again. “I’m sorry. I...I’m not good at this kind of stuff. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Nagito blinked.  _ His mom. She must have inspired him and his hope deeply.  _ He already felt that he owed her a debt, for helping Hajime see what they all had been trying to get through to him. “You haven’t hurt me. It hurt more when you couldn’t see yourself.”

His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t looked in a mirror since I woke up. I’m too scared to. I talked to Mom, I read a little bit, I apologized to Mahiru, and now...I’m here. I still don’t know if I’ll recognize myself.”

“Do you know how I recognize you, Hajime?”

He perked up. He was lovely—he always had been. Whether suited and scarred and red-eyed and cloaked in his own hair, whether his eyes were green and warm and his tie matched them and his body was unmarked, whether he had one of each and the marks of the doctors and others. Beautiful. 

Truly, Nagito was lucky.

“I don’t look at your eyes, or your hair, or even your face. When you’re around, I get this...feeling, right  _ here,”  _ he said, pointing to his chest. “And I know I’m...safe. Even in the simulation, when I had every reason to believe my luck would tear you from me, even if I couldn’t bring myself just to say  _ I love you  _ because of that pattern, I still felt  _ safe.  _ Do you...know why I don’t resent you at all for asking things of me? I mean, besides that you clearly needed it and because I...I do love you?” 

Every time he admitted to love, it was scary. Petrifying. But it got a little easier with every admission. 

  
  


“W-why?”

Nagito stood and gently pulled Hajime up. He followed Nagito’s eyes questioningly, gasping slightly when he was pulled into his chest, sitting them right back down. It was how he knew to show his care, giving the contact and affection that he himself had been so deprived of. Hajime closed his eyes, pressing his ear over Nagito’s heartbeat. Something told him that Hajime was starved for touch as well, just as much as he was. 

“You were the only one, you know. Who tried to understand me. Didn’t belittle me or treat me badly for how I acted, even if I deserved it!” He chuckled, playfully tugging on Hajime’s ahoge. “Aside from...Chiaki…” Hajime paled, gripped onto Nagito tighter. “Nobody really looked at me except to deride me! Of course, I’m used to it, you know, it’s what I deserve. But even after the first kill, you still tried to help me. You kept coming back. I will admit, I don’t know why. But you...you acted like you  _ cared.”  _

“I did. I do. When I came to on that beach, you stayed with me. You helped me. We were...friends. Even when you were acting in a way that...scared or hurt me, I knew there was more to you than that. Even if nobody saw it, not even you, you know? I did.”

His voice dropped. “I’m sorry for leaving when you were sick.” 

“It’s alright.”

“You’re so much more than your talent, or how you can be useful to others, Nagito.”

“And you are far more than what they made you, Hajime.” 

He nodded slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We both have some getting better to do.”

“And we can do it together?” His  _ own  _ hope pervaded the question, so naked and vulnerable.

“I’m not going to abandon you. I’m not going to leave. I  _ promise.  _ And I...I’m sorry for making it all about me these past few days. I’m going to help us all.” 

“You’ve been taking on everyone’s burdens alongside your own, don’t forget that. You’ve overworked yourself—“

“To avoid my own problems. It was selfish.” 

Nagito sighed and rubbed Hajime’s back, noting the tension. He was still tired and stressed. He probably would be for a long time. 

“Hajime. You aren’t  _ wrong  _ for helping others—you are kind and strong and you tie us all together. You just have taken...too much of the load. Don’t forget that there are 14 other people here. We can all take our share. It’s not your sole responsibility.”

“But half the time, I’m the only one who  _ can  _ do it.”

“You are the world’s hope—but you are not invincible.”

“And you’re not trash or unlovable because of your luck. We can go back and forth all day, but if we only  _ talk,  _ it’s not going to change anything, is it?” 

He sighed, tracing a pattern on Nagito’s shoulder. “We have to act on what we say. And I plan to.” 

“You’re too stubborn to quit. I have faith in you, don’t worry.” He was scared to ask Hajime not to stop. Too scared that he would let go.

“I…” he trailed off. 

“I do. I  _ do  _ want to get better. Whether I’m trash or not, even if someone like me doesn’t deserve it. I want to be...happy.  _ Hopeful.  _ With you.”

Hajime’s smile was big and real, and he slumped into Nagito contentedly. “Me too. Me too. You know I’m not...good with my feelings. Or stopping myself. And I know you’re going to have trouble breaking old habits. So we can keep each other accountable. I just...I want you to see yourself how I see you. And I want to recognize myself in the mirror.”

_ See myself as Hajime sees me.  _

“I’ll do my best for yo—for us.” 

The word was foreign in his mouth. It felt strange and clumsy. But he could get used to it, eventually. After all, if he didn’t even try, he would never improve. He would never progress beyond the arrogant monster he had been to Hajime, would never be more than a nameless, collared servant to children he desperately loved, even as they treated him like dirt. (Like he deserved.) 

He could...his illness wasn’t hounding his every step anymore. He had a  _ life  _ to look forward to.

Living that second chance as he had lived the first was the most hopeless,  _ despairing  _ idea he could think of. 

“You promise you won’t leave me?” It was weak, old fear still clinging at his heels. 

“I promise. We’re both staying right here.” 

“I owe you both greatly,” he said softly, still marveling that  _ he  _ was  _ here,  _ laying on him, promising him that he would stay  _ with Nagito.  _

“We never would have made it out of Neo World if not for you. Don’t forget that. As tricky and frustrating as you could be,  _ you  _ helped me. I wouldn’t have been able to solve all those...murders, without you. I needed you. Thank you.”

_ Thank you, Hajime. _

_ For everything.  _

“Can we stay like this?” he burst out. “Just for a while? I...I don’t want to be alone.”

His eyes flicked up, and he nodded, snuggling closer. “I didn’t want to leave anyway. You’re warm.” 

They stayed together in silence, Hajime clearly growing sleepier as time wore on. 

“If...if I fall asleep...will you still be there when I wake up?” He was still scared of sleeping. But in his position, it made sense. “I know the dreams aren’t going anywhere. But...but I have to face them.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere. I have nightmares, too. I promise that they get easier.” Sometimes, anyway. Sometimes they still left him breathless and paralyzed. But Izuru had always been there, pulled him close and listened and played with his hair and wiped his tears away until he was calm, until he could be tucked back into a sleep that was more restful and quiet. 

“I feel like I sleep so much and it just never gets easier,” he mumbled absently. “I wake up tired. I work. I force myself to go to bed. I dream and it feels so real that I can’t force myself out of it. I wake up tired. Rinse and repeat.”

“Then let’s not go to bed just yet, okay? It should be about dinnertime. Let’s go see some of our classmates. They miss you.” 

“Okay.” He reluctantly got up, masking a yawn. “I miss everyone, too. I’ve been so wrapped up in helping that I haven’t even talked to them.” 

_ He’s cute when he’s sleepy. _

“They have asked after you often. They see you as a leader.”

“I know. I owe it to them to do better.” He linked elbows with Nagito. “Also. Tomorrow. We’re getting that arm taken care of. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

As they walked out, Hajime sighed. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” 

“Thank you, Hajime. For seeing something in me, when even I didn’t see anything in myself.” 


	30. At Long Last.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red eye, green eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so long, we've approached the end. I cried when I finished this, when I wrote the last words. This past month or so, this fic has been a work of true passion and love, and every kudos, comment, bookmark, fanart, headcanon, etc--has truly encouraged me and helped me finish. If it wasn't for you guys, I never would haven gotten past one chapter. This is for Kai, who fact-checked and criticized me fairly with any ideas I came up with. For yeetbixed and your absolutely amazing art for this fic. For sunflower_8, who may or may not have inspired me to begin posting here. For every single one of my friends who listened to me rant and rave about this fic. For every one who commented, for everyone who didn't. 
> 
> This is for you. 
> 
> And this is for me, too. Thank you all.
> 
> But don't you DARE think I'm done. This is only the beginning. I can't believe this came from a single oneshot I wrote in about an hour in March. I can't believe over 5,000 people have read this fic. I can't believe how important this has become to me. Truly, I am blessed to have all of you behind me. 
> 
> Until the next fic.
> 
> -fen <3

The hotel restaurant was a little shabbier and more worn than it had been in the simulation, but with a deep cleaning and a little love, it was now a nice and the preferred meeting place for everyone. As Hajime and Izuru had worked themselves to the bone to wake everyone up, the others had spent days scrubbing away mold and scraping away old wallpaper, painting the walls a welcoming shade of yellow and laying down new floorboards. The chairs had also been bleached clean and repainted. Everything wasn’t new, but it was loved and well taken care of. 

The room was bustling, bursting with warmth and life. Everyone had already sat themselves together—a careful orchestra of who avoided who and which people could mediate between those who  _ had  _ killed and those who _ were _ killed. Mikan was able to make it to dinner, limping slowly with Sonia’s help to her seat. Hajime tried to ignore the IV pole she tugged beside her. But she gave him a big smile and a genuine nod of thanks when she saw him. He grinned nervously right back. 

Hajime had never made it to dinner. He had always been working or doing his best to sleep. He had truly been so wrapped up in his and everyone else’s problems that he had to fix that he had forgotten  _ them.  _

“H-hi, guys. It’s me.”  _ Not Izuru.  _

The room went silent, everyone’s eyes trained on him. On the linked elbows that would have been intertwined hands. 

Hajime swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very small under their scrutiny. “I think I owe you guys a few apologies. I’ve been doing a real bang-up job of everything.”

Fuyuhiko stood from his seat, the chair scraping against the wood floor. He stormed up to Hajime, grabbing his tie and yanking him down. “Where the  _ fuck  _ have you been?” 

“I…”

“We’ve been worried sick, you know! You just...work yourself until you collapse and  _ disappear  _ after doing a whole...fucking  _ surgery  _ on someone! And then it’s  _ him  _ who shows up, with your hands all fucked up! What  _ happened?” _

He sighed, Ko shifting a little closer to him in quiet support. “I punched a mirror.”

“You  _ what?” _

His shoulders slumped, and Nagito lightly gripped his wrist, steadying Hajime. “I’ve been…not doing well. And I wanted to apologize. For isolating myself. For not being there. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself and everyone’s problems, and I’ve just  _ not been there  _ for all of you. I’m sorry.”

Fuyuhiko huffed a breath, and wrapped him in a hug. “We’ve all been worried sick about you, dumbass. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” Then Peko stood, then Ibuki, then Kazuichi. Eventually, everyone surrounded him, Hajime finding himself in the center of a massive hug. It was warm and close, and he melted in their arms, letting waves of emotion wash over him as they squeezed him tight.

“We all love you. We’re just glad you’re back.” He didn’t know who said it. He didn’t care. But they were all there, they all  _ cared  _ about him,  _ they all recognized him.  _ He wasn’t alone anymore. Someone was rubbing his hair, and his head was resting on someone’s shoulder. He closed his eyes in the sea of comfort, letting himself be comforted and refusing to feel guilty about it. The guilt he had been carrying this whole time was nearly as damaging as what he’d actually gone through. 

“I’m trying to do better,” he mumbled. He didn’t know if anyone could hear him. 

“We all know,” Nagito mumbled quietly, kissing his forehead. “We know.” 

They all stayed like that for a while. When it did break, it broke to a lively and long dinner, Nagito pulling up his seat beside Hajime, fielding and effectively shutting down any questions about  _ them  _ with a kiss to the corner of Hajime’s mouth as he sat down beside him. But even with that, Souda still plopped down beside Hajime, slinging an arm around him.

“So when were you going to tell us you were  _ gay,  _ man?”

Fuyuhiko looked up from his taco, a single blond eyebrow raised. “It wasn’t obvious to you?”

_ “Hey—“ _

“I thought—I mean, we all knew Ko was all on you since you guys, like,  _ met,  _ but—“

“I like girls. I like guys. I like Nagito. It doesn’t matter,” he finished for Souda, taking a sip of iced sweet tea, then putting it aside (he’d just have to make some green tea later.). “Does it?” 

“I mean, no, but…” he sighed, going as pink as his hair. Nagito just squeezed Hajime’s thigh under the table and went back to eating, smiling lightly all the while. The atmosphere was warm and busy, smelling of taco meat and salsa. He was welcomed and wanted, people talked and  _ listened to him.  _ And it wasn’t even about the bad stuff--they just listened to him talk, and talked to him, about anything they wanted. 

It was maybe the best night of his life. 

At the very least, it was the best night he’d had in a long, long time. 

And when they stumbled back home into bed, a tangle of limbs, Hajime found himself resting on Nagito’s chest yet again--not as afraid to go to sleep as he normally was. Because he  _ would  _ wake up. He  _ would  _ be next to someone he cared about--loved--when he woke up, and he wouldn’t leave, even if he cried into his shirt or got up and just  _ ran. He would be there.  _

The dreams were still paralyzing and humiliating. He was still manhandled and operated on, an ever-smiling nurse still puppeteering and playing house with him at every turn. 

_ “Are you going to really give me that attitude, Hinata?” she pouted. “Come on. You just need to finish eating, so you can take a bath.”  _

_ “I’m not going to be allowed to bathe myself,” he mumbled, weakly pushing the spoon back into her hands. He was being allowed to feed himself--his legs were what was out of commission at the moment. “I don’t want to finish. I’m not hungry.”  _

_ “Yes, you are.” _

Swirls and haze. The dream changed. 

_ “Someone get me the fucking morphine, he’s fucking  _ **_waking up, give it to me now--”_ **

_ He was struggling to breathe, in unimaginable pain. He would have screamed if his mouth would open. Someone was smothering his mouth, muttering curses. “If you throw up on me, I’ll rock your shit.”  _

_ He couldn’t even pinpoint what, specifically, hurt. It was fiery and it was  _ **_AGONIZING,_ ** _ leaving him immobile except for feeble trembling. His arm was yanked out straight, the morphine frantically administered.  _

But he woke up. He  _ woke up,  _ in his own bed in his own cabin with his own boyfriend, and his arms were just scarred up from the needles, not bleeding and bruised. He could  _ breathe,  _ and it didn’t hurt. He was  _ safe.  _

But he still cried. He still silently let the tears fall into Nagito’s shirt. He still curled up tighter in the sheets, feeling like he was better hidden away from prying eyes, making it harder for him to be undressed and bandaged and examined and sliced open and sewn shut and every other thing they decided to do to him. 

But he wasn’t there anymore. He had his own clothes on, he had someone else to cling to, he was  _ here.  _ There were no needles or scalpels anywhere near him, and if he (or anyone else) could help it, there never would be again.

“Thank you,” he mumbled to Nagito’s sleeping form. To Izuru. To Makoto. To his friends on this island. “Thank you for everything.” 

He swallowed hard and looked into the mirror from across the room.

One red eye.

One green eye. 

His own face. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
